


Six of Swords

by Serene_Quill



Series: Mages and Masks [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Dimension, Dopplegangers, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Character Death, Morally Ambiguous Alan Deaton, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serene_Quill/pseuds/Serene_Quill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The spot the journal had opened to was formatted like a letter, and for a moment, Stiles reflected on how weird writing a letter another version of yourself must be.  Being the one trapped in involuntarily someone else’s life, however, meant he didn’t much care.</p><p>"Dear Other-Me,  <br/>Part of me hopes you’re actually a dark wizard and just blew everyone off the face of the earth.  Because let’s face it, the most powerful and capable version of myself is probably at least 84% likely to go supervillain."</p><p>Stiles tried not to feel flattered or insulted, hating to admit the other Stiles had a point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'd say you can fumble through this without reading the previous story, but you really need to read the previous story as it's the backbone for the differences in this world.
> 
> The six of swords is a tarot card associated with travel, often reluctant or unwanted travel.

Stiles woke up slowly, blinking eyes closed quickly at the too bright sun. Derek always forgot to pull the blinds when he left their flat for his morning run, but this morning, the sun seemed excessively bright. He put a hand up, forcing his eyes open slits, looking for the bedside clock on the rickety table he’d rescued from a flea market in Camden their first week in London. Derek had been skeptical and predicted it’d last two weeks, but the table had lasted two years now, and Stiles smugly denied any of Derek’s accusations that he was using his magic to help hold it together.

When Stiles finally convinced his eyes to actually open, however, the bedside table and clock weren’t there. He sat up in alarm, dimly recognizing the Nemeton clearing, though the tree itself was old, very old, not the young tree Scott occasionally emailed him pictures of to prove that his pack hadn’t burned down Beacon Hills in the absence of Derek and Stiles’ pack. But the magic from it was too familiar to be anything else.

“Oh crap,” Stiles sighed, looking around in concern. He couldn’t decide which was more alarming, that he wasn’t in London, working on his BA in Metaphysical Theory, or that the Nemeton looked as healthy as though it had never been cut down. A quick pat down of his pajama pants revealed that his phone had not teleported across the Atlantic with him, but he knew he wasn’t too far from the Hale House, even if the walk would be hell on his bare feet.

“Teleportation would be the best case scenario,” he thought aloud as he headed for the house he and Derek had closed up when their pack moved to London for college. Scott’s pack, who were all at Beacon University, would check the property regularly, though Stiles had never been too worried, given the wards he put up around the house before they left. Derek had actually gotten to the point that he actually rolled his eyes at the obscene amount of fireproofing wards Stiles had layered in. “The Nemeton growing though, that’s worrisome,” he bit his lip as he worried aloud, awkwardly maneuvering around roots that had grown into the path.

He stopped short before the path opened down to the Hale property, his heart racing. “Oh crap,” he muttered, struggling with his breathing, feeling the edge of a panic attack starting, a feeling that he hadn’t had for a long time, since he’d bonded with Derek as Alpha and Emissary three years ago. The creek that ran around the property was missing, and the house below was familiar, but only from old pictures. It was the original Hale House, the one Kate Argent had burned down a decade ago.

He crouched down, counting his breaths and hoping he was out of sight of anyone who might be down in the house. His mind was reeling; what had he done? His mind presented an image of his Theoretical Practicums in Magical Change textbook, which he had been reading the night before. They had just finished a unit on time travel. Please, God, don’t let him have time traveled, he’d end up destroying time and space knowing his luck, Stiles thought to himself, drawing a shaky breath. The current unit though, was about alternate realities and alternate timelines, and that… Stiles got a second breath, then a third, then managed to get his feet under him again, realizing he had to make a decision, make a plan and go forward. Alternate reality he could work with, stepping forward wouldn't end his universe, so he decided to believe that was what he was working with.

Deaton and the clinic came to mind, surprisingly, but he had no way of knowing if the old emissary was around or alive in this time or place. If the Hales were here though, any of the Hales, they would be used to the supernatural, unless Stiles was in a horribly sideways universe.

“You all right?” a voice broke into his reverie, and Stiles flailed as he turned, taken off guard. The dark haired woman behind him was familiar, though the frown on her face was a little off of what he’d expect. Then again, alive and in one piece was surprising as well. Laura Hale looked elegant and polished somehow, even in running gear and obviously at the end of her run. “Stiles?” she asked, and that answered that question, Stiles decided.

“I’m not sure how I got out here?” he admitted, and she scowled even more darkly, making Stiles’ heart dizzy with homesickness with how much she looked like Derek.

“Were you screwing around with magic without Gennadiy again?” she accused him, and Stiles shrugged sheepishly. “For fuck sake, Stiles, you’re this pack’s future emissary, you should try acting like it sometime,” she snapped at him, pointing one perfectly manicured nail toward the house. “Go on, you can explain it to our moms.”

“Uh,” Stiles stammered, his heart suddenly racing, making Laura tilt her head as she looked at him oddly. “My mom is here?”

“Of course, where else would she be?” Laura asked blankly, then narrowed her eyes. “Did you hit your head? You seem… off.”

“I think so?” Stiles decided quickly, rubbing the back of his head. “Or maybe whatever went sideways when I teleported? My head is confused,” he tried, and if it registered as a lie, Laura didn’t show any sign of it.

“Come on, you should get dressed. Gennadiy is expecting you at the shop this morning, and he can figure it out,” Laura sighed, leading the way this time, not even pausing to see if Stiles was following her. Stiles said a quick prayer that he didn’t have a double waiting inside the house, that he had actually swapped places with this place’s version of himself or incurred some sort of displacement. He really hoped he wasn’t just missing in his own home.

He did a quick tally of what he’d learned. Grandpa was alive, Mom was alive, the Nemeton had never been cut down, Laura was alive, and the Hale House had never burned down. If this was an alternate timeline, the change predated or actually was his grandfather’s death, which was the first in that sequence he’d managed to identify so far. He breathed deeply, bracing himself mentally for what was waiting on the other side of the screen door Laura had just slammed open ahead of him.

At the kitchen table, his mom sat with Talia Hale. Talia Hale looked only a little older than the pictures of her he had hunted down for Derek on their first anniversary. She had a few stands of grey in her hair, a few more wrinkles, but otherwise, she looked very much the same as Stiles would have expected. His mom, though…

She glowed with good health in a way he had forgotten in the last few years, too used to the ravaging effects the cancer had taken on her body. Claudia Stilinski was no longer rail thin, but lean and muscled like he was, dark hair hanging in a long, straight curtain to her mid-back. He hadn’t seen her with long hair since his seventh birthday. “Hi, Mom,” he managed, breathing stammering in his throat as he tried to control his reactions. He wanted to grab onto her, hug her tightly, but there was a cool distance to the almost-familiar face looking back at him, so he held himself back.

“Stiles, you okay?” Claudia asked, sniffing suspiciously, her eyes flaring a bright green as she did. His mom clearly had had some magic before her change, which was unusual. Stiles had always assumed it had skipped her, as magic often skipped generations. “You reek of magic, Stiles,” she observed, sounding disappointed now.

“Pretty sure he teleported himself out to the Nemeton in his sleep,” Laura remarked, tossing him a banana from where she had pulled one from the fruit bowl for herself. “He smells confused, I think he maybe hit his head.”

“And why didn’t you notice anything, Laura?” Talia demanded, narrowing her eyes at them both. 

“I spent the night at Lydia’s.” Laura remarked glibly, though her posture screamed defiance to Stiles, and Talia’s eyes flared red briefly. 

“Let’s go, Stiles,” Laura muttered, and Stiles wordlessly trailed after her, hurting and confused at the cold shoulder both Talia and Claudia were clearly projecting at both him and Laura. “You really do reek of magic, like more than you ever have,” Laura told him softly as they climbed a set of stairs to the second floor. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Stiles said, not sure what else to say, but clearly that was the wrong thing, as Laura went back to glaring at him. 

“That’s the problem, apprentice,” she snarled, putting a nasty emphasis on his title, one he hadn’t heard in years, unfortunately. “You really should know better than me. Tell the truth, have you been out working with the druids again?”

Druids, Stiles processed, mind alighting on Deaton and Morrell again, and he resolved to pay attention to that instinct this time. As soon as he could slip the watchful eyes around him, he would go find them, maybe see what help they could give him. “I haven’t seen them in ages,” he replied, glad that he could give her the truth on that one.

A door in the second floor hallway opened, a clearly just waking up Derek scowling at them as he stepped out. “Derek,” Stiles said, unable to help himself, relief at seeing a version, any version, of his lover in front of him. A moment later, he wasn’t so sure about it as Derek slammed him back into the wall, growling. 

“What did I say about speaking to me?” Derek demanded ferociously.

“What, I can’t even say hi when we pass each other?” Stiles tried for indignant, but the sharp stab of pain he felt couldn’t be completely buried in his frantic self-reminders that this wasn’t his Derek. Derek shoved him, making his shoulders thump into the wall once more before turning and slamming the door behind himself.

“Lovely,” Laura sighed, giving Stiles the stink. “He probably woke half the house, thanks for that. Your brain really is addled.”

“Bite me,” Stiles scowled, rubbing his shoulder as he followed Laura up the flight of stairs to the third floor then up a final flight to the attic. The attic apartment was like a small studio, set up with on large, king size bed, only one side of which looked remotely slept in. Turning to the left, Stiles saw pillows and blankets set up on an overstuffed couch. 

The bookshelves were just as telling. Books on magic, books on Alphas and packs, his comic books… he turned, and sure enough, Laura was removing her shirt without the slightest bit of self-consciousness. “I’m getting first shower,” she informed him. “I’ll drop you at the shop on my way to work.”

She vanished into a bathroom, and Stiles drew in a shaky breath, next checking the closet to confirm that his clothes really were there, mixed with Laura’s. “What the hell, Stiles?” he muttered, wondering what the hell his other self was doing with Laura, especially when they certainly didn’t seem like a couple in love.

He showered and dressed quickly, determinedly keeping his eyes away from Laura and projecting an air of ‘go the fuck away’ in her direction, quite sure her werewolf senses could pick up on it easily. The car ride, Laura driving an all too familiar black Camaro and making it even more upsetting, was awkward and deathly quiet, Laura’s scowl never fading even slightly.

“Look,” she said finally, slamming the car into park. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but if you’re going to implode everything, you promised to give me a heads up. I’d rather not destroy everyone around us, but if you’ve decided that’s the way to go, then tell me now.”

Stiles stared at her, trying to fight a sudden surge of horror at Laura’s words. She sounded like she was being literal, but he hoped fervently for a moment that she meant emotional devastation. “I’m not there yet,” Stiles said hoarsely, shaking his head.

“Just checking,” she said, and Stiles flinched, because she actually sounded disappointed. He waited a moment, and she jerked her head to the sidewalk, indicating Stiles should hop out now. “Have fun with your granddad,” she told him, but it sounded rather ominous. 

He sighed, looking to the small strip mall off Main St. behind him. In his own version of Beacon Hills, it was home to a small hair salon, a real estate office, a small law firm and a bakery that was only open for special events consultations. Here, the bakery was still there, but the rest of the building had been taken over by a combined used books and esoteric store, the kind of place Stiles had hopes of opening himself after college when his pack returned to Beacon Hills. 

He headed straight in, unable to help feeling a sense of wonder as he literally walked in to the place he’d been dreaming of. It was smaller than he envisioned his own place, largely because he knew the space of his future stores. It was two blocks over, and Derek had bought the building for him after Stiles had finished the first business prospectus about six months ago.

The smell of old books drew him into the aisle almost automatically, and he had a volume marked “Tempus et Terre” down and in hand, flipping hopefully through the pages before he could think about it. He had pulled the text for his class several days ago, but hadn’t had a chance to really start going through it. Now, it seemed highly relevant to his situation.

He nearly dropped the text when a throat cleared behind him. He whirled, coming face to face with his grandfather. The older man had aged gracefully, dark hair shot through with silver, but still standing tall and proud, lean muscles in good condition. Stiles suspected the cane in his left hand was more for show, or possibly metaphysical use, given the crystal handle, and not for any infirmity of age. 

“I was going to ask who you are, since you are clearly not my grandson,” his grandfather commented, voice deep and lilting with the faintest hint of a Russian accent. “But you crossed boundary into my shop, so you are not Doppelganger, and your choice of book has perhaps revealed more than you intended.”

“Um,” Stiles managed inarticulately, any thought of lying flying right out of his head. His shoulders slumped as he sighed. “How’d you know?”

“My Stiles has very little control and no interest in his magic,” his grandfather replied, gesturing for Stiles to follow him into the esoteric half of the store, and this time, Stiles noted that he was walking past a number of metaphysical barriers between the shop entrance and the back counter. “You resonate with more power than even I have, and a level of mastery I would not expect if you are actually the same age as my grandson.”

“Did I pass?” he asked when they reached the counter, hooking a thumb back at the barriers. “You need one for the Fae, by the way.”

His grandfather frowned, nodding to the iron line. “Yeah, it’ll work on most of them,” Stiles agreed, shoving his hands in his pocket. “But if you mixed it with the lead and St. John’s Wort like you’ve got in the base of your doppelganger wards at the door, you’d be able to stop them all.”

“Changelings too?” his grandfather asked, and Stiles shrugged.

“Doubtful, but we’ve never really found a way to test it. Except for testing their blood, we think it might fail an anise star reactive test,” he explained. “Also, we’re assuming our worlds operate on the same metaphysical laws, so can you be sure any of what I just said will work? I’m pretty sure I’m from an alternate timeline, but I haven’t ruled out alternate reality.”

“You have a pinpoint mark to identify a timeline?” his grandfather asked, making a beckoning motion toward the book, which Stiles handed over automatically. 

“I’m not entirely certain, but yes, I think so?” Stiles supplied, biting his lip. “I… uh, sorry, I’m trying to decide if divulging my history will do more harm than good.”

“Understandable,” his grandfather agreed, flipping through a few pages. “Did you move in time or space?”

“Space mainly, but I haven’t caught the date,” Stiles admitted. “But I was in London and woke up at the Nemeton.”

“Hmm,” his grandfather murmured, flipping a few more pages, then paused, blinking in surprise. “What were you doing in London?”

“College, I’m top of my class in the Metaphysics program at Westminster,” Stiles informed him, and his grandfather’s solemn and stern face broke with a broad smile. 

“Top?” he repeated, then swore fluently in Russian. “You are so much more powerful than this timeline’s version of my grandson. If you can tell me…?”

Stiles sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I’m probably going to need your help anyway,” he admitted. “In my timeline… look, I think the differential point is your death. In my world, you were killed about four months before I was born.”

The older man frowned, tapping at his lower lip with his index and middle fingers as he thought. “It was Deaton?” he guessed, and Stiles made a face.

“Geez, what the hell is wrong with this timeline’s Deaton and Morrell?” he asked. “No! Deaton replaced you as the Hale emissary in my timeline. He wasn’t very good at it, but yeah. No, it was a rogue omega that killed you.”

“Rouge omega, taking me out?” his grandfather repeated skeptically. “Did I decide to leave my mountain ash at home that day?”

“My alpha and I do have theories, that perhaps the same person who orchestrated the deaths of most of the Hales was somehow behind your death but we’ve never been able to prove it,” Stiles admitted, and his grandfather went pale.

“How many of the Hales are alive in your timeline?” he asked, and Stiles winced, shuffling his feet slightly.

“Uh, two,” Stiles admitted. “There was a fire. And some other things later. But yeah, two.”

“Fire,” his grandfather repeated weakly, sitting down on a stool behind the counter. “I think you should tell me everything.”

“I’m still not sure I should, or at least, I need some more information about the politics around here first,” Stiles replied, biting his lip. “I’m not even sure if I should give you the name of my Alpha right now, because this world is so far off of mine.”

“I’m guessing it’s not Talia or Laura, or you wouldn’t be concerned,” he admitted, then scowled. “Please tell me the power didn’t pass to that lazy, good for nothing Peter.”

Stiles shuddered, shaking his head. “Most definitely not,” he replied. “He’s dead, for good this time,” he added, shrugging at the look his grandfather gave him. “It didn’t stick the first couple of times someone tried.”

“The fire?” his grandfather guessed, and Stiles nodded.

“He made it out, but it took years for him to recover,” Stiles admitted. “Laura was the Alpha then, but Peter finished his recovery by killing her and taking the power. We killed him, but he used a banshee’s power to come back. Then the Nemeton helped me finish him once and for all.”

“You took out an Alpha?” his grandfather repeated skeptically. “You have control of the Beacon Hills Nemeton. How old are you?”

“21,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “That was when I was 17, though. Other than a lot of ongoing spats with the Fae, Beacon Hills has been pretty quiet since then. We dealt with a minor fae prince that was behind that problem last summer, didn’t even piss off the court in the process, so it’s been fairly quiet since then.”

“Our line is powerful, but you have more power than I’ve ever seen in our family,” his grandfather admitted, looking a little wary for the first time.

“Inherited some from a darach, and I’m mated to an Alpha who inherited all the Hale power, plus Deucalion’s power. Also, our pack is tied to another pack with a true Alpha,” Stiles explained, trying to shrug it off. “I think you’ve got enough on me, how about some from you now?” he pointed out, and his grandfather chuckled.

“The impatience is familiar,” he said. “All right, I assume you met with your mother already.”

“Briefly,” he agreed, shrugging to conceal the sharp pang of pain at the memory. “I take it she got the bite to save her life from the cancer?”

“Yes,” his grandfather agreed. “She’s powerful, Talia’s second, which may be why our world’s Peter has never had a real chance at taking the power. She keeps him on a very tight, short leash. Our problem has been with doppelgangers, especially the ones looking to finish the Volkov line.”

“Met one once,” Stiles remarked, remembering Colin’s hatred for his family. “They’re near extinct in my timeline though.”

His grandfather looked surprised, then his face fell slightly, something apparently occurring to him. “If I am no longer the family patriarch in your world, it is possible the family went to war, something neither our family nor their kind would survive. It’s why I’ve held the peace for so long.”

“It was convinced I was the last Volkov,” Stiles admitted with a sigh. “I think my aunt, Clara, she might be alive somewhere, but even Dad and his resources haven’t been able to find her.”

“She’s good at hiding, ducking a position and responsibility,” his grandfather admitted on a sigh. “Last I heard, she had moved to Ixtapa.”

“I’ll check it out when I get back, maybe her path is the same,” Stiles replied, trying not to give in to the panic that rose when he forced himself to say when instead of if.

“In our timeline, doppelgangers are still very prevalent, very angry, and they have kidnapped you on two occasions. Your mother and you are fighting because she wants you to take the bite and forsake your magic. It would remove you from their fight. You only study magic because it allows you to avoid taking the bite, but given a real choice, I doubt you would do either.”

“And what does he want to do?” Stiles asked, biting his lip.

“Go to the police academy,” his grandfather replied simply. “Be like his father. We’ve only kept custody of this Stiles because his father turned him away, insisting it’s safer if he stays with the pack. It is, but it’s not the life Stiles wants.”

“He’s not stupid,” Stiles pointed out, rather than deal with the overwhelming sorrow and anger the idea of his parents being separated, maybe even divorced, brought with it. “What will you do if Deaton shows him how to bind his powers? That’s what he’s going to the druids for, isn’t it?”

“He would not confide in me, but yes, I suspect so,” Gennadiy confirmed, looking sad.

“Okay, I get all that,” Stiles said, examining his fingernails in order to make sure to mask his intentions with the questions. “But he’s with Laura Hale? Doesn’t seem… like a great romance, I guess.”

“It’s arranged,” his grandfather confirmed. “Talia and your mother are determined to have their children mated. Laura decided not to fight it because she knows she needs a mate in addition to her lover, in order to carry on the line. Fighting it for Stiles meant the pressure to take the bite would resume.” His lip curled in an ugly way around the word lover, and Stiles made a note to tread carefully.

“Jesus, what a mess,” Stiles groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Laura’s lover? A woman, I take it since there’s concern about bearing children?”

“A banshee,” his grandfather started, and Stiles deliberately banged his head on the counter a couple of times. 

“Lydia?” he groaned, grumbling curse words in Russian under his breath.

“Language,” his grandfather scolded him, and Stiles lifted his head, sighing. “And yes, that girl’s name is Lydia.”

“She’d be a powerful ally, does Talia really object to her gender that much?” Stiles asked.

“It is not merely that it is… distasteful, having to admit the future Alpha is not interested in men. Talia is old world, she sometimes has blinders to her children’s needs when they do not coincide with the needs of the pack,” his grandfather explained. “A lover on the side is one thing, but to take an unsuitable mate, one who cannot continue the pack… you must have much the same concerns with your mate, planning the carrying on of the line. I assume Cora?”

“No, we don’t have that concern,” Stiles answered, rather than give up the name. “Survival for our current pack is paramount right now. Okay, so what’s with your Stiles and Derek Hale? He seems really… angry?” he made it a question and deliberately used Derek’s full name, hoping his grandfather would take it as a non-sequitor.

“Derek cannot leave the pack territory as he wants to do until Stiles is mated or turned. Talia and Claudia are both more than a little obsessive about protection of the territory and of us,” his grandfather told him. “I believe he resents it.”

Stiles turned that over in his head, but that didn’t seem like nearly enough and felt oddly like a lie. “Okay,” he replied, tapping his fingertips on the counter. “I need to get home, obviously, and I probably have enough info to avoid screwing up your grandson’s life too much, not that I think he needs much help on that,” he made a face, finally understanding Laura’s reference to blowing it all up. Maybe he could help them do it without mass destruction, but he figured he’d better not tell the older mage in front of him, especially when he was fairly certain the information he’d just been given was heavily slanted in favor of Gennadiy. 

“You want to consult the druids?” his grandfather asked, and Stiles shrugged.

“My instincts are telling me they may know something,” he replied. “Look, I get you don’t like them, and I’m honestly no fan of them myself, but I don’t have the luxury of avoiding them if I need to track down what your Stiles got into. Just point me to them, and I’ll go from there.”

“The vet clinic and the psychiatric facility on Bayside,” his grandfather said, then nodded to a trunk just behind the counter. “Take some supplies with you, Gennadiy.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, then started helping himself to various mixtures, a bit heavy on the stealth aides once his jeans were filled with dozens tricks, but his grandfather was looking impressed. 

He turned to the left when he left the shop, as though heading to the vet clinic, but looped back a block later, making his way to the sheriff’s station. If he was going to meddle, he planned to lay down some cover for this Stiles, to do it right. The deputy at the desk didn’t recognize him and had actually blinked in surprise when he had explained he was John Stilinski’s son. No wonder this Stiles was so screwed up.

“Hey, Dad,” he greeted the older man when he finally was shown back to the sheriff’s office his dad looked up, frowning and checking the calendar in confusion.

“We’re not on for this weekend or anything, are we?” he asked, and Stiles shook his head, sprinkling a little silencing powder as he closed the door, just enough for about fifteen minutes of cover. 

“No, but I needed to talk to you sooner,” he told his dad, who frowned, nodding toward the door, which made Stiles nod, understanding that his dad must have a werewolf deputy out there.

“Little magic to take care of it,” Stiles admitted, shrugging. “Sorry, like I said, we need to talk.”

“So you’re going to run?” his dad asked, leaning back. “We’ve talked about this, kiddo, they’ll just bring you back. If you get rid of your magic, your mom and your Alpha are going to get very determined to give you the bite. So unless you’re here with a plan J, K whatever we’re on now…”

“I think we’re at the end of the alphabet,” Stiles let his breath out in a quick huff of air, surprised but glad to find his dad was almost completely in the know. 

“Look, I don’t like it, but I don’t have any ideas either,” John admitted. “The pack isn’t willing to let you go.”

“Shit,” Stiles muttered, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna need your help, but I need you to keep an open mind.”

“What’d you do this time?” his dad asked, and Stiles winced. 

“Is it bad enough, is it to the point that… I should maybe go for a Hail Mary play, a permanent escape route?” he asked, trying to feel out things delicately. He was starting to suspect his presence here had nothing to do with his own magical practice.

“Like I said last week, that’s your call,” his dad said slowly, looking a little baffled now. “Look, you walked through the door, so I know you’re not a doppelganger, but I’m starting to worry you aren’t my son.”

“I’m not,” Stiles admitted, shrugging even though he was hyper aware of his dad’s hand hovering just above his sidearm. “I think your Stiles may have gone for the Hail Mary play and switched timelines with me.”

“Aww, hell,” the sheriff groaned, tension relaxing a little. “And he was just hoping your world would be better than this one?”

“I’m not sure what the purpose was, I’m going to have to find Deaton for that, but yeah, I guess that’s what he was going for,” Stiles admitted, chewing a hangnail as he thought. “My world’s no picnic, but it’s at least as stable as this one for now. He should be fine, so long as my Derek doesn’t string him up by his guts.”

“Your Derek, huh?” his dad asked, lifting his eyebrows questioningly, clearly catching some undertone in how Stiles had said it. “That’ll be a nice little shock for him.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Stiles agreed. “I was just hoping he maybe hadn’t come to you for help yet, that maybe…”

“Sorry, kiddo,” his dad said, slumping down with a sigh. “Look, you’re from another time line, are there other options he could consider?”

“Another pack or a vampire kiss could take him in,” Stiles suggested. “Maybe a coven, but I would be surprised if they could stand up to Granddad and the Volkov’s, if they’re powerful here still.”

“The mafia of mages,” his dad quipped, making a face.

“Yeah, sort of got that impression,” Stiles admitted. “Kinda makes me glad they aren’t around in my timeline, except that makes me feel bad that I wish that on my own family.”

“Would vampires be better than the pack?” his dad asked, and Stiles grimaced.

“No, definitely not. The only force outside of the pack he can really think about is probably the Seelie Court of the Fae. They’ve been known to take in mages and witches, but they burden their humans with a life of service and near immortality. He’d be doing magic for the queen of the fae until he found a way to take his own life.”

“Jesus,” his dad groaned, peeking through his fingers at Stiles. “What about you, in your world?”

“I’m mated to the Hale alpha, and emissary, but I wanted it,” Stiles said, shrugging at the way his dad’s jaw dropped. “Derek’s one of two Hales left alive in my time line.”

“You and Derek Hale?” he asked incredulously.

Stiles snorted. “Me and Laura Hale?”

“Fair,” his dad settled back down, sighing. “I think you may have just outed my son to me as bisexual,” he admitted, mouth turning down sadly. “I’ve suspected, but… I guarantee no one here knows if it’s the same for him, not after the way his mom, Talia, and your grandfather have been to Laura.”

“Yeah,” Stiles felt his heart clench painfully. “I never would have thought… I mean, I like to think that Mom…”

“Your mom isn’t alive in your timeline, is she?” his dad realized quietly. Stiles shook his head, the sadness in him suddenly unbearable. He wanted Derek, wanted to crawl in to their bed and cry into his chest and hide from the world for a few days. “Hell,” his dad cursed softly, then got up from his chair, tugging Stiles into a tight hug. Stiles clung to his dad, eyes threatening to spill, but he sniffled, just barely holding it in check. “I’m sorry, son, I wish I could be more help.”

“I’m going to need magic, mostly, a lot of it, and I know you can’t help with that,” Stiles admitted, biting down on his lip as he pulled away. “But...” he scribbled down a name of one of his professors in London, handing it to his dad. “Can you get me this phone number? I may need an escape clause for myself, if I can’t get myself home.”

“Okay,” his dad agreed. He hesitated, then blurted out, “I can get you ID’s, help you at least get a head start if it comes to that. I’ve been prepping in case my Stiles found a way to run that might work, where they couldn’t bring him back. You think you have that?”

“Maybe, if I’m lucky,” Stiles said, making a show of crossing his fingers for luck. “I need to rule out getting home first. I… I really want to go home,” he admitted, and his dad drew him into a hug again. “I’ll try to think of a way to help your Stiles too,” he said softly, and his dad’s grip tightened for one moment, grateful. 

He made sure his face was clear, eyes dry and composure in place before stepping back out. The deputy who had been at the desk before smiled and nodded, but the second deputy who had joined him, blonde with amazing green eyes and a lithe body, eyed Stiles with a familiar look of suspicion. Stiles took note of his name tag – Parrish – as he thought the side-eye had been brought on by the lack of sound from in the sheriff’s office, pegging Parrish as the werewolf deputy. 

Outside, he decided to cut up the alley behind Main and take the shortcut to the backdoor of the animal clinic to go see Deaton. He had to admit, the idea of seeing the druid, when his last memory of the man was watching him bleed out in that clinic, had his stomach in uneasy knots. He’d made it to the end of the block that turned and emptied into the back parking lot when someone came flying out of a doorway at him, knocking him backward and pinning him against the wall. 

Without a second thought, Stiles reached for his magic and magically tossed his attacker off him. Derek went flying into the opposite wall, breath escaping in a surprised huff. “You scared the crap out of me,” Stiles snapped, and Derek was back on top of him, snarling as he shoved Stiles back into the wall.

“You’re way too familiar with magic today, aren’t you?” Derek growled, claws extending in between each of Stiles’ fingers, spreading his palms wide and flat as Derek held them back against the wall. 

“Careful, big guy, you might give me ideas,” Stiles teased, letting his body go limp under Derek’s, hoping this Derek would prove as put off as his family apparently was.

Derek growled slightly, leaning in and almost nipping at his throat, lips closing together on his skin instead in a parody of a kiss. “You’re the one who always stops me, Stiles. The one who said we were stopping for good last time. Who threw me out and hasn’t spoken to me in months. You really want to start again? I’ll take you back to our hiding spot, strip you bare and lick every inch of your skin till you beg me to fuck you.”

“God, I really, really wanna say yes, and I really, really can’t,” Stiles babbled, closing his eyes in abject misery. Not his Derek, not his Derek, it’d be as good as cheating, he mentally kicked himself, steeling his resolve. Oddly, his magic helped with that, sending a ripple of disquiet and pain through him at the thought of being disloyal. He grounded himself carefully, breathing slowly. When he opened his eyes, Derek had leaned back a little and was staring at him oddly.

“What’s changed?” he barked out, confusion wrinkling a little v between his eyebrows. “Normally you’re a basket case of self-loathing crap.” Derek leaned in, sniffing at Stiles with sudden suspicion. “It’s not just that you smell of magic, but you don’t smell quite like you. You don’t smell at all like your mom, or our Alpha, barely smell like Laura, but you smell an awful lot like me.”

“Shit,” Stiles muttered, letting his head fall painfully against the brick wall behind him. “Leave it to you to know my scent that well. I’m not your Stiles. Pretty sure I switched timelines with him. It could have been my mistake, but I’m betting he did something to cause it. I’m going to see Deaton to find out what, you’re welcome to tag along just as soon as you let me go.”

Derek looked at him like he’d grown a second head, then for good measure gone ahead and sprouted a third one too. “You’re not lying,” he said finally, voice filled with wonder. “Shit, he found a way out and left without me.”

The absolute broken shock underlying Derek’s voice tore into Stiles. “You don’t know that,” he insisted. “It could have been a mistake.”

Derek’s eyes shuttered, old familiar walls Stiles hadn’t seen in years clearly coming up inside the werewolf’s mind. “Let’s go see Deaton,” he muttered finally.

“Did you have a plan for getting him out of here?” Stiles asked curiously, and Derek snarled a quick warning.

“It isn’t that bad,” Derek retorted brusquely. “He marries Laura, I marry Lydia, and we all just carry on as we have been.”

“Great plan,” Stiles groaned, rolling his eyes. “And your Stiles? How’s he get to be a cop? Or does he just have to accept being either Emissary or Wolf and anything else he wants can just be a casualty of everything everyone else wants?”

“He…” Derek hesitated, shoulders slumping. “No, I couldn’t come up with a good enough plan,” he admitted. “The only thing that came close was Laura’s ultimate destruction plan.”

“Yeah, wanna clue me in on that one?” Stiles asked, and Derek looked at him warily.

“Laura figured if one of us could make the leap, we could force a split in the pack. It’d probably have to be me to do it effectively, and we’d need to start establishing another territory,” Derek explained. “It’s never been a real option, but Laura’s had the plan back on the board since Kali and her pack were killed a few weeks ago. That leaves her territory outside Portland open. The big danger is that we don’t know what took out Kali’s pack and moved in, but…”

“But it’s far enough from here to establish our own rules, but close enough to maintain an alliance,” Stiles muttered, nodding slowly. “But neither you nor Laura are actually up for killing an alpha, that’s the big hurdle, isn’t it?”

“Laura might be, she’s been trained to be an alpha, but she’s also set to be Mom’s heir,” Derek explained. “No guarantee if she does it that Mom wouldn’t just have Gennadiy cede the powers to her to maintain the family and territory.”

“But then Laura is the Alpha and her rules go,” Stiles pointed out. “She’s able to marry whomever she wants.”

“But the Emissary has to perform the ritual,” Derek pointed out, maddeningly calm, as though he’d been through this argument so many times it was just a recitation of a script at this point. “Your grandfather will never allow Lydia to marry Laura. Not just because she’s a woman, but because she’s a banshee. He’s got a lot of problems with her heritage. If it’s not an emissary or a wolf, he’s pretty much in favor of killing it.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, frowning as he rubbed at his wrist thoughtfully. The usual slightly raised loops of his infinity tattoo not being there really bothered him. He debated raising an imitation of the mark on his skin, then frowned as he inspected his wrist a little more closely. He’d taken it for the shadow of a fading bruise when he’d first arrived and taken stock of the changes to his body – the missing scars, the missing tattoos, the joints that didn’t ache with old damage – but now that he had his mind on it, the smudge still lingering on his wrist was in the same place as one of the tattoos he’d previously borne, and seemed cloudy, distant, but almost felt present still. 

“What are you thinking?” Derek asked, and Stiles looked over, noticing how lost the werewolf looked. He flushed slightly. “I can usually read my Stiles so easily. You’re… a stranger, really,” he admitted. “Wearing a face I should be able to read. It’s… unsettling.”

“That was my considering a nuclear option face, so maybe that’s what you found unsettling,” Stiles admitted, wishing he could shrug off the impulse to comfort Derek, especially since this wasn’t his Derek, but the loneliness inside him, the yawning possibility of never seeing his Derek again ate at him, needling him more than even the longest trip Derek had taken away from him in the past. 

“You smell… sad,” Derek observed, making a face when Stiles turned a questioning look on him. “That’s a bad description, more like absolutely wrecked. Like the world is ending.”

“Feels that way, a little,” Stiles admitted, rubbing at his wrist again. “I share a bond with the Alpha of my pack in my world, and being away from it like this, not sure if I can get back to it… it hurts. Physically.”

“I’m sorry he did this to you,” Derek replied quietly. “He’s just…”

“Desperate,” Stiles filled in for him. “I get that, I’d probably suffocate here as well.”

“That much magic and bonded to the Alpha, I don’t think you’d have trouble being here,” Derek replied. “Your Alpha doesn’t mind you and your Derek being together?”

“No,” Stiles replied, shrugging when Derek looked surprised. “Our pack doesn’t have any hang ups about gender or sexuality or race really. We’re allied with banshees, have a former kanima in our pack, plus we split the Beacon Hills territory with another pack.”

“My mom must not be one of the Alphas anymore,” Derek observed wryly.

“Sorry, no,” Stiles replied. He didn’t feel like elaborating, certain that if he gave Laura or Derek the idea that his Derek was an Alpha, it would just be the confirmation they needed to justify their ultimate destruction plan.

Derek actually held the clinic door open for him, so Stiles in turn opened the slab of wood ash that enclosed the counter for him, deciding Deaton could complain all he wanted. Deaton was examining a small poodle on the exam table, not looking up as they entered. “I wondered how long it would be before you made your way here,” Deaton said, and the bullshit cryptic act simultaneously angered Stiles and hit him like a punch in the gut. “Six hours, better than I’d have thought.”

“Yeah, well, I watched you bleed out in this clinic four years ago in my timeline, so you’re lucky you came to mind at all,” Stiles snarked back, and Deaton finally looked up. If he was shocked by that announcement, he didn’t show it.

“With the amount of power you’re exuding, I have no doubt you’d have been drawn here even if you didn’t know me at all,” Deaton replied easily. “I imagine you’re here to find out what this timeline’s Stiles’ did.”

“And how to undo it?” Stiles remarked pointedly.

“The spell has a built in shelf life,” Deaton said in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring manner. "The switch will be reversed as soon as you fulfill its purpose.”

“What did you do?” Derek growled, and Deaton lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

“Stiles couldn’t find a way out, not for both of you,” Deaton remarked. “And he didn’t want an out without you. So, with my help, he designed a spell to switch places with an alternate timeline version of himself. Not just any version of himself, but the one most likely to solve the problems to his specifications.”

“Was he helpful enough to leave a list of those specifications?” Stiles asked, voice dripping with disdain. 

“Of course,” Deaton replied, carefully lifting the poodle off the table and putting it back in one of the cages. Unhurriedly, he unlocked his office and reached into a desk drawer for a small green moleskin notebook. “All the details of the spell are written down here, along with the criteria that must be met to undo the spell.”

“Seriously, couldn’t you all just talk to your moms?” Stiles demanded, turning on Derek. His shoulders hunched uncomfortably.

“I think you presume a lot about the rationality of the situation,” Deaton put in gently. “When Laura came to her mom to tell her she wanted to mate with her lover, her mother locked her in an old bank vault made of Hecatolite during the full moon to remind her of what she is and her duty to the pack and her Alpha. She couldn’t shift, it was torture. The last time Stiles ran, the only reason he got out of the cell at Eichen House they stuffed him in before he broke was because his father’s deputy didn’t do a good enough job of hiding the paper trail.”

“Is the territory that unstable?” Stiles asked, feeling almost breathless. 

“The Volkovs are desperate to take out Gennadiy so they can go to war properly. The Argents are poised to join them, a campaign through Europe to eradicate all supernatural creatures,” Deaton admitted. “I… I was blackmailed into making an attempt myself. Dopplegangers have come after our Stiles almost a dozen times, to end the ruling line of the Volkovs, to make sure the family falls leaderless when Gennadiy passes. Talia made a lot of enemies when she killed Deucalion and Ennis for their plot to create an Alpha pack. There have been a number of challenges to her as well. No weakness or even the perception of weakness can get out, or the territory will fall.”

Deaton looked side-eyed at Stiles, and Stiles wanted to groan, almost unable to believe Deaton had an even worse card back, had something to trump his argument. “Outside the territory, no one can feel it, but if you reach for it, I bet you can find it,” Deaton murmured, eyes glittering with a frightening bit of power madness. 

Stiles sighed, closing his eyes and reaching for the territory itself with his magic. He was so familiar with the dual Beacon Hill territories of his home that he almost vomited when the magic of the land came rushing up to him. “It’s dying,” he coughed, choking on the feeling of decay and rot that had pervaded his senses. “The Nemeton is dying.”

“Yes,” Deaton agreed. “I surprised you didn’t notice sooner.”

“My connection to my Nemeton supersedes it, can’t feel this one unless I try,” Stiles admitted. “I was at the tree, it looked healthy.”

“I don’t have an answer for you,” Deaton replied, and Stiles took a moment to evaluate his truthfulness, Deaton evaluating him in turn. “I wish I did know something. I would like to know what makes you look at me with such distrust, what choices I could make that would make you so casual about having watched me die.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Stiles replied, nodding his head at Derek toward the door so he would follow. 

He waited till they were outside the clinic, releasing a shaky breath. “Okay,” he said, pulling in several grounding breaths. “Okay,” he repeated, looking to Derek. “I need you to cover for me, I’m not going back to that house tonight. I have to figure some things out and get control again.”

“It wouldn’t be strange for you to stay away, I just have to tell my mom I’m following you and she’ll consider you on a leash,” Derek admitted. “We can stay at the place my Stiles and I used to, I think he still uses it to hide out sometimes.”

“If he stashed any books about what he’s done?” Stiles guessed, and Derek nodded.

“Yeah, they’d be there,” Derek agreed.

Stiles felt he should have been surprised, but decided he wasn’t, when Derek led him down into the abandoned train depot. The other Stiles and Derek had clearly spent a great deal of time transforming it though, as the place was surprisingly free of debris and set up like a small living space. In the train car itself Stiles found a wall of bookshelves and an actual bed, a frame and mattress, cheap but comfortable, piled high with blankets and pillows. It echoed oddly of his own flat in London and he felt his breath hitch as he stood frozen in the doorway for a moment. 

“Come on,” Derek said softly, tugging his arm gently and pulling him to the bed. “I promise, I’m just going to hold you,” he told Stiles, and his will broke, body beginning to tremble as the barrier he’d been holding up against his emotions broke, tears falling slowly at first, then swelling into exhausted sobs.


	2. Chapter Two

Derek was still asleep next to him when Stiles woke the next morning, having fallen into an exhausted sleep of the dead once he’d cried himself out the night before.  It had helped, cleared his mind of his panic and loss, and now clear focus had taken hold, along with determination to fix the other Stiles’ life in order to reclaim his own.  He reached up, unwilling to give up the last bit of illusion of Derek sleeping next to him, and pulled down the journal Deaton had given him the night before. 

 

It fell open to a well-worn, broken spine spot, and after a moment of inspection, Stiles confirmed it had been deliberately broken and a weak charm had been applied to force the journal to open to that page.  Thumbing back a few pages, Stiles found the mechanics of the dimensional transport spell Stiles and Deaton had worked out.  It had been well written, no easily found loopholes, but not infinite and requiring more power than the pair had been capable of creating between them.  The conditions written in would cause the spell to reverse upon completion, and would make the spell self-sustaining, not draining on Deaton or the other Stiles at all. 

 

The spot the journal opened to had been formatted like a letter, and for a moment, Stiles reflected on how weird writing a letter another version of yourself must be.  Being the one trapped in someone else’s life involuntarily, however, meant he didn’t much care.

 

_Dear Other-Me,_

_First off, I’m sorry.  I’m really, really sorry, but I was out of ideas.  I can’t find a way to stop the rising tide of fate and family and all the other general fucked up stuff I’m sure you’ve encountered by now.  Part of me hopes you’re actually a dark wizard and just blew everyone off the face of the earth.  Because let’s face it, the most powerful and capable version of myself is probably at least 84% likely to go super villain._

Stiles tried not to feel flattered or insulted, hating to admit the other Stiles had a point.

 

_So obviously you’re reading this to find out what has to happen to reverse the spell.  The problem is, I learned something after Deaton and I had already crafted it, and it’s a game changer.  Obviously I’ve decided to go through with it, but I’m afraid even you may not be able to deal with finding a way through this obstacle.  I can’t even write it down, I’m that afraid of discovery._

_Take DM to the magic store.  God, I hope you know who I mean.  But when you do, if you know him, and you know what I know about him, you’ll start to figure out what I did._

DM had to be Danny, Stiles frowned, thumbing back to the front of the book, but finding no mention of him.  Then again, there was no mention of Scott, Lydia, or even Cora, who was very likely to still be around in this reality.  He checked through his mental rolodex again, but came up with only Danny or Delia, but the letter had specified ‘him’.    What about Danny would give him any…

 

Stiles froze, mind touching on that locked little corner of his mind he tried to never look into when it came to his pack, his family.  Secrets within secrets he held in reserve for them and from them.  Fine, he dismissed it, shrugging deliberately.  This Danny was not his Danny, and this universe meant nothing about his universe.  He had no problem drawing that line in the sand and keeping the potential life he’d always imagined, one where his mom had taken the bite and she and his dad would dance at his and Derek’s wedding from being polluted by this reality.  Resolved, he returned to the letter.

 

_I don’t expect you to forgive me for what I’ve done.  It’s stupid, and unforgivable, and reckless, and probably a thousand other words you could come up with for it, but I hope you see it’s also desperate, because that’s where we’re at now.  There are plots within plots, in the pack, in Beacon Hills, and no one is what they seem anymore.  You can’t trust anyone, except for maybe Derek, and I’d test him frequently to make sure he’s still himself._

_They all have trouble with the eyes._

_Good Luck._

Stiles grimaced, acid filling his mouth at the memory.  When he had been kidnapped several years ago, the doppelganger had tried to look like Derek, but hadn’t been able to shift quite right to beta form, the eyes never quite right.  He’d mostly lost his nervous tic of asking Derek to shift his eyes, but it had come in handy when a fae had tried to use a glamour to mimic Derek.  The only thing that could truly show a werewolf’s power in their eyes was an actual werewolf. 

 

Apparently that included anything and everything the other Stiles was warning him about.  Okay, shape shifters, he’d cut his teeth on shape shifters.  His mind flickered to then, frowning as he realized this universe still had a Peter Hale who was alive and kicking.  Peter Hale loved shape shifters.

 

Reluctantly, he wiggled out from under Derek’s arm, sliding out of bed and finding an extra notebook and pen so he could take notes before he lost his focus.  He frowned, not finding any other place to sit, and slid back into bed, sitting against the pillows and pretending not to notice that this Derek had turned away immediately when he’d climbed out of bed, continuing to sleep.  With his Derek, he would slide out of bed, and still asleep, Derek would follow, to the edge of the bed, and one time, beyond that, before fully waking up.

 

This was not a Derek used to sharing a bed with his Stiles.  It cast a brief wave of sadness over him, which he deliberately banished from his mind before scribbling down his notes about shape shifters and Peter, then turning the page in the notebook. 

 

_Requirements for Reversal:_

  1.         _Laura and Lydia can be together, without being married to anyone else_
  2.         _Derek and I can be together, without being married to anyone else_
  3.         _I can pursue a career in law enforcement without taking the bite_
  4.         _Safety for Derek and Lydia_



The fourth requirement made Stiles frown.  It would wait for Derek to wake up, though, he decided, and sighed, wondering if they needed to bring Laura and Lydia in on everything.  Come to it, he thought he really just ought to come out to everyone, force the explosion to come and see how everything shook out.  Nothing tipped people’s hands more than the unexpected.

 

Now that he thought of it though, his grandfather hadn’t had nearly enough of a reaction to the announcement.  Deaton and his dad he could understand, having been given a heads up.  But Gennadiy hadn’t blinked, had pieced it all together then shown very little concern for his Stiles, who, for all the old emissary knew, might have been dropped into a hell dimension.  Had the other Stiles attempted this spell a few years earlier, it wouldn’t have been far off given Peter’s havoc in Beacon Hills.  Stiles dropped the information his grandfather had given him down to the lowest level of reliability, having already been suspicious of how he’d colored it as Talia’s issues with her children.

 

Where his thoughts led worried him, making him chew on the side of his thumb as he worried it over. The only easy conclusion rising in his mind was that Gennadiy had just gotten the apprentice he had always wanted, and probably had little if any interest in undoing the spell, even if it wasn’t truly his grandson there now. He just had to ensure this apprentice picked the right Hale, and coloring the story like he’d done was a good way to do it.

 

“Stop it,” Derek muttered sleepily.  “I can feel you worrying.”

 

The werewolf rolled over, looping his too warm arms around one of Stiles’ legs, then nuzzling his cheek against Stiles’ thigh.  “Nice waking up with you though,” he mumbled, and Stiles sighed.  This Derek woke up just as gradually as his did on a lazy morning. 

 

“Not your Stiles, remember?” Stiles said, even though he hated it.

 

“I know,” Derek replied, sighing and turning his face a little more so he could look up at Stiles.  “Don’t really smell like him, not enough guilt.  You get close, when you think about your Derek, when you think this is cheating, but even then, you don’t have the undertone of self-loathing.  My Stiles hates that he’s in love with me, that he’s not living up to his grandfather’s legacy, and I think the worst of it is that he blames himself for his parents’ split.”

 

Well.  Not quite like his Derek, then, Stiles gaped, open mouthed, surprised by the fount of information the werewolf had just spouted off.  “Okay,” Stiles said, jostling his knee so that Derek sat up.  “Tell me what you make of his fourth demand then.”

 

Derek read through the full list, grimacing when he read the fourth demand.  “What Deaton told you about our Alpha locking Laura in the vault… that’s what was done to the future Alpha.  What do you think they’ve done when the beta and the banshee won’t toe the line?”

 

Stiles felt sick to his stomach.  “So when you say that your Stiles’ hates being in love with you, you’re not talking about some weird internalized homophobia he picked up from Talia and Mom and Grandpa.”

 

Derek shook his head.  “Once, they shot me with wolfsbane laced arrows and locked me and him in the vault.  It took him hours and hours to push the poison out with his magic, and I was hallucinating and half dead through almost all of it.”

 

Stiles knew he shouldn’t ask, but the words bubbled out of his mouth anyway.  “You weren’t together when I arrived.”

 

Derek was silent for a long moment.  “I’m not entirely sure what was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Peter had been after us for weeks, warning us that Lydia and I were about to be exiled or worse.  Next thing I know Stiles and I are here, and he’s telling me it’s over.  We’ve lost, and I should move on.”

 

Derek was silent for a moment.  “From what I’ve pieced together, Claudia came to him an ultimatum.  If he didn’t give me up, marry Laura, and focus on his studies in earnest, she would… remove any impediments.”

 

“Kill you and have Talia bite him, problems eliminated,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face.  “Or so they think.  Gennadiy is old, and the nemeton is dying.  It needs a guardian.  I know Deaton isn’t strong enough to hold it, and neither is your Stiles.  If it dies, darkness comes back to Beacon Hills in droves.  And I know they like to think they have control, that this is a strong pack, but answer me honestly.  If kitsune, dopplegangers, witches, fae, sirens, Baba Yaga, not to mention other packs and a dozen other monsters pour into Beacon Hills, would you and Laura stay and fight, or would you grab Lydia and I and run?”

 

Derek bowed his head, sighing, and Stiles knew he’d hit the mark.   “Christ, how do I even think about fixing this?” Stiles demanded, and Derek just shook his head.   “Fine, resources.  Let’s start with a roll call.  Tell me who you know, and if you know them, where they are.  Scott McCall?”

 

“The kid you were buddies with in high school? He was on the lacrosse team with asthma?”  Derek asks, baffled. 

 

“OK, not a resource, got it,” Stiles replied, rolling his eyes.  “Vernon Boyd? Erica Reyes? Isaac Lahey?”

 

“Only ever heard of the last kid,” Derek admitted.  “His dad locked him in a freezer a few years ago, and he died.  Your dad was the one who locked up Coach Lahey.”

 

“Danny Mahealani?”

 

Derek recoiled, making a disgusted face.  “You know what he is?”

 

“Faery, I’m guessing,” Stiles shrugged.  “We know anyone else with the initials DM?”

 

“Just his sister, and they aren’t just fae, they’re the freakin’ faery queen’s heirs apparent, Stiles.”

 

“Whoa, really?” Stiles asked, blinking.  “What are they doing in Beacon Hills?”

 

“Hiding out, biding their time,” Derek replied.  “There’s a rumor it’s down to just the two of them since the queen’s daughter has been missing for over a generation and supposedly Gennadiy killed Thorn of the Unseelie Court.  But no one has come to make the two of them decide anything because the queen is still hoping Thorn is alive.  She doesn’t want a human raised heir any more than anyone else in her court does.”

 

“Does he like me?” Stiles asked, and Derek looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

 

“I don’t think you’ve ever even been a blip on either of their radars.”

 

“Rude,” Stiles scowled, then sighed.  “I take it they’ve known who they are for a while?”

 

“Since they were 8 and 10,” Derek confirms, though he sounds a little shaky about their ages.  “The Seelie Court assigned them teachers and guards when the rumors of Thorn’s death started in earnest.”

 

“What’s it take to start that rumor?” Stiles wondered aloud.  It wasn’t unusual for fae, especially for the royal court, to drop off the radar for years, sometimes almost a decade, without checking in with the queen or any other fae.

 

“Last I overheard, no one had seen him since before Danny and Delia were born.  Some people wonder if their birth mother, the Unseelie queen’s twin sister and lady of the Seelie Court, might have inside information, and had more children even though it was guaranteed to kill her that late in her life.”

 

“Freaky fae politics aside,” Stiles said, sighing.  “Can I trust Danny enough to test what your Stiles said?”

 

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted.  “I’ve never met him, so if my Stiles did, it was after we split.”

 

“Hmm,” Stiles flipped his notebook over to the page he’d marked ‘things I know’ and added Danny and Delia being fae to the list.  Then after a moment, added a note for sure this time that Gennadiy had lied to him.

 

“Peter likes shape shifters?” Derek read, and Stiles blanched.

 

“Look, I know he’s your uncle, but my universe, he is a shady, shady villain,” Stiles informed Derek, whose lips curled up at Stiles’ description.

 

“No, that sounds about like him here, too,” Derek admitted.  “He’s just a little more Willie E. Coyote than criminal mastermind here.  Mom and Gennadiy have stripped his powers so far he can barely beta shift, let alone full shift.”

 

“You can full shift?” Stiles asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

 

“It’s not an uncommon trait for Hales,” Derek replied, a little haughtily.  “Most of us can.”

 

“Tell my Derek that,” Stiles muttered, shrugging when Derek looked at him oddly.  “Look, your life hasn’t been a cake walk, but his was pretty awful too.”

 

“You think Peter is getting other people to do his dirty work?” Derek asked, changing the subject, and Stiles started chewing on the end of his pen. 

 

“Normally it’d be the top of my list, but even the witches he knew in my universe wouldn’t be enough to kill the nemeton, even slowly, not with Gennadiy in control.  Okay, let me think.” He tapped the pen against his lips, flushing when he noticed Derek’s too focused attention.  “Uh, sorry,” he stammered.  “No Deucalion means no Ethan and Aiden, ooh, what about Noshiko and Kira Yukimura?”

 

“No idea who they are,” Derek said, but Stiles was already racing ahead, and he waved Derek off. 

 

“No, of course not, the nemeton is still standing.  They’ll probably show up if we fail.   Argents?”

 

“Like, the Hunters’ Council? Chris Argent, head of the Hunters’ Council?” Derek asked, baffled.  “He visits once every couple of years, less time than he spends with most packs or hunters around the country, because of how everything went down with his father and sister and Deucalion.”

 

“Explain,” Stiles said abruptly, and Derek sighed.

 

“Gerard massacred a bunch of hunters, made it look like Deucalion’s pack was responsible, but his daughter got curious and followed him out.  Watching him kill all their family and friends broke her mind, she ended up locked up in Eichen House.  The Hunter’s Council managed to get enough out of her to figure out what happened and they hunted Gerard the way they would a rabid wolf.  Dad always ends that story by saying they buried him in an unmarked grave, to be forgotten forever, but I’m pretty sure most of the packs insisted on seeing the body and taking a bone.  It’s tradition,” Derek explained, seeing the face Stiles made.

 

“So hunters stick to the code under Chris then, probably more reputable than they are in my world,” Stiles mused.  “So if Chris isn’t here often, that means you’re in Mama Calaveras’s territory, huh?”

 

“It’s a big territory, she’s not here much either,” Derek admitted, but that actually made Stiles smile. 

 

“Ok, so next I need to…”

 

“Get to work, unfortunately,” Derek scooped up Stiles’ cell phone which was flashing and buzzing with an alarm.  “Something tells me that alternate universe or not, Gennadiy will still want you to cover your usual shift at the magic shop. He makes house calls over in Woodbridge on Wednesday and Friday mornings, so you have to run the shop.”

 

“By myself?” Stiles confirmed, and when Derek nodded, Stiles pumped his fist.  “Excellent.”  He quickly scribbled a list of names and thrust it at Derek.  “Get me these phone numbers and meet me there in an hour.”

 

-*-

 

Stiles got to the store just ahead of when his shift was supposed to start, and with only a little convincing, got Gennadiy to keep to his usual routine, babbling on about how he wanted to run a shop like this someday, and how often did fate give him a chance like this and scout’s honor, it’d still be standing when the old emissary returned in four hours.

 

Gennadiy had been gone only a few minutes when Derek slouched in, handing over the list of names now with phone numbers scribbled in.  “Hi, Danny, Stiles Stilinski, come to the magic shop, it’s urgent,” Stiles said, then hung up abruptly.  Derek rolled his eyes.  “What? Curiosity is a Fae’s biggest weakness.  He won’t be able to resist coming to figure it out.”

 

Stiles paused, catching sight of his wrist once more.  Nuclear option, he reminded himself, though nuclear was looking like it might be the way to go.  A solution Talia and Claudia would never be able to live with he was sure.  He pulled some materials from the shop’s shelves, then a pinch of wolfsbane, and cast a silencing spell between himself and Derek.  Derek would never approve of the call Stiles was about to make, and he didn’t need to risk Derek toppling the house of cards he was building.

 

Derek scowled at him through the inky haze, and Stiles grinned unrepentantly.  “Please tell Araya Calaveras she has a call, code word, búho.”  He said a quick little prayer to the universe that the Calaveras’s codes matched the ones in his universe.

 

“It’s been a long time since a mage called me with the correct code word,” Araya drawled over the line a moment later.  “Who are you, and why shouldn’t I kill you?”

 

-*-

 

True to Stiles’ word, Danny turned up just over an hour later.  What Stiles had not expected was just how different this world’s Danny would be.  His short hair had been grown out and gathered in a rough, choppy ponytail, his right ear twinkling with seven piercings up the outer edge.  His eyebrow had two additional glittering piercings, and a tenth final piercing glittered in his nose.  His eyes were rimmed with a slick black eyeliner, and his skin and looks, enhanced by fae glamour, fairly glimmered with appeal.  “Stiles,” the fae prince started, sounding irritated, then his eyes widened and he sniffed the air lightly.  “You’re not Stiles,” Danny fairly purred, swiftly closing the distance between them and leaning in over the counter, tugging Stiles close, too close if Derek’s sudden growl was anything to judge by.

 

“Cool it, wolf, he isn’t your Stiles, so you can’t claim him,” Danny murmured absently, his focus on Stiles.  Quick as a whip, he was over the counter and pressed against Stiles, eyes peering intently into Stiles’.  Derek’s growling continued, and the fae waved a hand at the wolf, freezing him in place effortlessly.

 

Stiles had learned a lot when they met Eadha, a minor fae princeling in his own universe, but Eadha hadn’t been this powerful.  Danny was practically vibrating with magic, more vibrant even than the dying fae queen Stiles had met the year before.   He was pathetically grateful Danny had frozen Derek, because he’s pretty sure the wolf would have thrown Danny through the store window if Danny proved anything like Eadha.  And sure enough, Danny’s tongue traced the length of his jugular a moment later.  It would have been erotic, except it was Danny, and the fae must have agreed, pushing Stiles back and making a face. 

 

“You taste mostly familial,” Danny spat, disgusted.  “What the hell, Stiles?”

 

“Alternate universe,” Stiles managed, running a hand over his throat and making a similar face.  “Not that you aren’t hot like burning and all, but my Danny and I are so far from that.”

 

“Clearly,” Danny remarked acidly.  “Alternate universe, that’s his great plan?  Escaping?”

 

“More like bringing in a new version of himself and forcing them to solve his problems,” Stiles grumbled, and Danny shrugged, actually looking more convinced by that.

 

“Well, to be fair, you are powerful enough that I actually want you for my bride,” Danny remarked.  “You’d make a great fae bride.”

 

“Been told that before, it was creepy then too, your majesty,” Stiles said, enjoying the way Danny narrowed his eyes at the assumption.  “Delia might claim the Unseelie throne and be the next queen of the fae, but you’re already the king of the Seelie Court, aren’t you?” It was the only explanation for the awesome mantle of power around Danny.

 

“I think I like a less perceptive Stiles in this universe, one not prone to endangering my life with casual pronouncements like that,” Danny sniffed, apparently not about to confirm or deny anything.  “How do I help you get him back?”

 

“Know where to find any of these?” Stiles asked, turning a book toward the fae.  Danny glanced at it, raising impressed eyebrows at Stiles.

 

“Only one of those left,” Danny remarked.  “But lucky for you, I know where he lives, just finished taking care of a snake problem in the area.”  He took Stiles’ pen and wrote down a number.  “His contact info, and you’re on your own from there.”

 

“His?” Stiles confirmed, heart pounding.

 

“I just made your day, didn’t I,” Danny teased him, grinning.  “Anything else?”

 

“This,” Stiles said, pushing a card over the countertop toward Danny, then frowning as he considered the shop.  “How did you get in?”

 

Danny’s smile grew positively sly at that, and he stepped to the iron line, crouching down next to it.  “You catch on much quicker than your Stiles,” he observed, caressing his index finger over the line of what was supposed to be iron.  He raised the finger to his mouth and licked the faint bit of dust away, grinning.  “Barely any iron, almost all copper, a delicious, little tang,” Danny purred, and he came back to Stiles’ side.  “Now ask yourself,” the fae murmured, leaning in till his lips brushed Stiles’ ear.  “Why would an oh so powerful emissary muck up his faery wards?” Danny pulled back a little, flipping the card between his fingers.  “I’ll be there, Stiles, but even you’ll need a boost to pull this off.  Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today.”

 

Derek’s growl clued Stiles in that the wolf was once again aware, but apparently still frozen in place, because he didn’t come after Danny when the fae leaned in and kissed Stiles, tongue prying him open and pouring him full of white hot power, charging his abilities beyond anything he’d ever experienced.  “Wow,” he managed, voice hoarse and shaky, which only served to make Danny grin wider as he stepped away.

 

“Enjoy your wolf, too,” Danny advised him as he crossed the shop.  “I doubt you can keep him off you now.”

 

Stiles swallowed hard, suddenly understanding the trick Danny was playing in exchange for the power he’d been given.  The fae never gave anything freely.  Stiles barely had a moment to wonder how good Derek’s control was before Danny vanished without opening the door, and the freezing spell snapped with an audible ‘pop’.

 

“Derek, I’m not your Stiles,” Stiles tried, but the wolf bounded over, shoving Stiles up against the storeroom door, wedging a knee in between Stiles’ legs, roughly claiming Stiles’ mouth with his own.  Where Stiles’ magic had understood and accepted Danny’s touch, his purpose in funneling magic to Stiles, this made his instincts scream with wrongness.  Before he could stop it, he lashed out, tossing Derek head over heels, tumbling and pinning him with a hard thud up to the roof of the magic shop.

 

Stiles almost let him down, horrified by his loss of control, but thought better of it.  “I am not your Stiles,” he snarled again, and Derek stopped snarling, suddenly coming back to himself.  Stiles took a moment to appreciate Derek’s gold wolf eyes, perfectly formed and rapidly fading back to human green.  Not an impostor, just his own overdeveloped sense of fidelity then.  “Are you in control?” Stiles asked, and Derek nodded, head hanging. 

 

Stiles let him down slowly, willing his face to stay blank.  “I’m sorry it bothers you that Danny took liberties,” Stiles conceded slightly.  “And I’m not happy about it either.  But you can’t treat me like I’m yours.  My magic knows I belong to someone else, and it’s making me ill.”

 

Derek paled, and if possible, his head hung even lower.  “If you have to scent me, do it like pack,” Stiles suggested, but Derek pulled back, shaking his head.

 

“I don’t trust myself and my instincts right now,” Derek admitted, stiffly moving away and taking a seat at the furthest table from Stiles. 

 

“Okay,” Stiles breathed out, returning the book he’d shown Danny to the shelf on magical creatures, carefully stirring the dust to leave no trace that the book had ever been removed.

 

-*-

The rest of Stiles’ shift was comparatively quiet, though after faery and werewolf hysterics, that wasn’t saying much.  He helped a young Wiccan who had turned out to have a bit of a real spark, much like he’d started with, to find books that would actually nurture her gift and give her growth options and steered her to a teacher out of county, beyond territory lines.  Interestingly, she seemed to understand what he was saying by suggesting the distance, eyes hooded and dark when she nodded her agreement. 

 

Morrell stopped in, all knowing smirks and sly smiles, but she said nothing to him, just handed him a rather extensive list of herbs and waited silently.  She handed him two one hundred dollar bills for the purchase, when only one would have more than covered it, and ignored his attempt to correct it as she glided out of the shop.  Derek watched the whole exchange, then sighed.  “Your accounts are monitored,” he informed Stiles.  “By the pack and your grandfather.  I guess she’s trying to help.”

 

“Good to know,” Stiles muttered, pocketing the bills.  He wasn’t sure he would need anything he couldn’t get his hands on there in the shop (and was currently doing so), but he wouldn’t be able to use a card for gas if he was planning to leave town, too easily traced.  Then he thought about the list Morrell had just given him.  “She stocking up on healing herbs, emergency magic ingredients.  She’s anticipating all-out war.”

 

“I’m not sure anyone sees the power imbalance building in Beacon Hills resolving itself without bloodshed,” Derek admitted.  “Mom and Gennadiy are holding the entire territory together by force of will.”

 

“Do you think we need to bring Lydia and Laura in on what’s going to happen?” Stiles asked. 

 

“I’m not even in on what’s going to happen,” Derek grumbled, giving Stiles a pointed glare. 

 

“No one gets to know everything, because I’m still not sure what secret your Stiles held back.  I’m a paranoid bastard that way,”  Stiles admitted, leaning his elbows on the counter for a moment and considering Derek, who was fighting a faint smile at his words.  “Earlier, you said the rumor is that Gennadiy killed Thorn, correct?”

 

“That’s one theory, though your grandfather has never said if he did or not.  If it is true, it happened before you were born, so it’s basically an old story at this point.  The fae don’t believe it, or they would have come after him.”

 

“Hmm,” Stiles murmured, then frowned.  “Hey, do I not have a car?  Laura dropped me off yesterday, and then we took your car.”

 

Derek’s car, a rather nondescript four door sedan had been a bit of a disappointment.  Stiles had gleefully informed the werewolf that his Derek was the one driving the Camaro in his reality, which had made the other man scowl.  “You really think they trust you with a car?” Derek replied dryly.  “You might actually run and make it to the next territory, make things complicated.”

 

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Stiles informed Derek.  “I need to borrow your car, leave the territory, and have you cover for me.”

 

-*-

 

Derek hadn’t been thrilled, but when Stiles threatened to steal and magically hotwire a car, he handed over the keys reluctantly.  He was slinking out of the store when Claudia strolled, in lifting at eyebrow at Derek’s exit.  “He smells miserable,” she announced, sounding almost pleased, and Stiles shrugged, stung by the near approval. 

 

“His misery was throwing off my attempts to get any work done,” Stiles replied.  “I may have implied holding up the brick wall outside would be a better use of his time.”

 

“You’re not nearly hard enough on him, if you intend to push him away,” his mom noted, but she didn’t sound angry, just observant.

 

“Can’t be too hard, we’re still going to have to function as pack someday,” Stiles replied, keeping his tone equally calm.  “You and Talia won’t be around forever.”

 

“Do you resent me taking the bite?” Claudia asked abruptly, and Stiles turned that over in his mind.

 

“Losing you would have…” Stiles trailed off, choking a little on the emotion.  “No, I’m glad you’re alive, Mom.  I just wish you understood me.  That the bite is wrong for me.  That maybe I don’t belong in the supernatural world at all, even if you and grandpa do.”

 

“You’re a Volkov, you have no choice in the matter,” she snarled, eyes flashing.  “You could try to live as a human and within a week or two, a doppelganger would show up and slit your throat, not caring if you were neutral or not.  Why do you always refuse to see that?”

 

“Because you refuse to give me any choice!” Stiles shouted back, apparently taking her aback.  “You plan my life out like I’m your toy, not your child.  I don’t want to marry Laura.  I don’t want to be the pack’s emissary.”

 

He hope she hadn’t heard any lie on that last one.  He personally wanted to be an emissary, but he was speaking this world’s version of Stiles’ truth, plus there was a grain of truth; he didn’t want to be this pack’s emissary. “If you have Talia bite me and it takes, I will have the Hunter’s Council put me down,” he added, and she flinched.  Apparently that was also this world’s Stiles’ truth, though it had been a shot in the dark. 

 

“Would it be so bad?” Stiles asked, puzzled by her silence.  “Having a son who lives a normal life with a partner of his choosing?”

 

“Short life,” his mother replied, but it was more of a whimper than a snarl.  A moment later, she seemed to steel her resolve.  “No, this is the way it has to be.  I have to protect you.”

 

“That’s what makes this such a goddamn tragedy,” Stiles replied, softly, but he knew she heard, especially given how she slammed the door.

 

Derek slunk back in, assessing Stiles carefully.  “Okay?” he asked, looking for confirmation.

 

“Okay,” Stiles replied, taking a deep breath and pulling his focus back in.  “Derek, where’s your Dad?  You always described him as the voice of reason to me.”

 

“He died when I was 15, rogue omega.  My baby sister Cora was with him,” Derek explained.  “I think my mom might have lost control of the territory if Gennadiy hadn’t come to her soon after, begging her to turn your mom.  Mentoring you mom, working with Gennadiy, it brought her anchor back to the pack and kept her focused on us instead of her grief.”

 

“Omega?” Stiles remarked, blinking.  “Huh, okay, not what I was expecting.  Guess that answers why there’s no bad ass Cora around to help me out while calling me an idiot.  Who put down the omega?”

 

Derek looked oddly at Stiles, a little put off at the questions.  “Your grandfather.”

 

“Wheels within wheels,” Stiles muttered, finishing off the last of his final concoction, which was missing just one ingredient he needed to retrieve from elsewhere, some place where he could trust the ingredients to be true.  Just in time too, as his grandfather breezed into the shop just after Stiles had tucked it away in his backpack.  Derek slunk back out, scowling.

 

“Hey, was just thinking you’d be back soon,” Stiles greeted him easily.  “Would it be all right if I borrowed some books?  Not sure if that’s something your Stiles does, and everything, but I got to reading during my downtime and now I want to finish.”

 

Gennadiy positively beamed, apparently charmed by Stiles’ absent scholar routine.  “Of course, so different to see you applied to something this way, Stiles.  I think I could get quite used to having you around.”

 

Stiles smiled wanly.  “I hate that I’m keeping your actual grandson away, but it’s going to take time to figure out how he did this if I am to undo it.  It’s always harder carefully undoing what is carelessly or accidentally done with magic.”

 

“You think this was accidental?” Gennadiy asked, and Stiles shrugged.

 

“I think Deaton was shoving magic books at him in the hopes of causing trouble and your Stiles probably just didn’t know what he was getting into.  It was childish, trying to run away like kids do when they pack a bag and get halfway down the street.  But since it’s magic, the consequences were much worse.”  Gennadiy was nodding, apparently satisfied with the answer. 

 

“Perhaps when he returns it will be time for him to be sent away to school, to learn some real discipline,” Gennadiy admitted heavily.  “I think I have indulged him too long.”

 

Stiles looked the older man in the eye.  “Please let me know what I can do to help you while I’m here.  I know it’s his screw up and a headache for you, but I feel lucky to have gotten to meet you, and I’d like to be of service to this pack, if I can.”

 

“The lucky one is me, to see what my grandson’s true potential is and to learn from you,” Gennadiy replied, puffing up proudly. 

 

Ego, Stiles thought disgustedly to himself as he went out and climbed into Derek’s car.  It didn’t matter if it was Peter, the fae, or anything else supernatural, it was a big gaping chink in their armor.  He drove first to the train yard, aware that Gennadiy’s flattery might have been the same ploy, and carefully cast a small illusion that would hopefully fool the emissary into believing Stiles was camped out there for the rest of the day. 

 

He circled back to the car, quickly headed out to the highway and heading north on I5 toward Portland.  He wouldn’t have to make it that far north, thankfully, just to the edge of what used to be Kali’s territory.  No one might be sure what happened to Kali and her pack, but Stiles knew what had moved in.

 

Maybe this wasn’t such a nuclear option after all.


	3. Chapter Three

Stiles returned to Beacon Hills under the cover of darkness. He was exhausted, wrung out of all the donated magic Danny had given him and had still ended up seriously taxing his own, bandaged wrist still bleeding sluggishly, but he was cautiously optimistic. He probably should have stopped at a hotel for the night, but he didn’t want to risk his absence being noticed by anyone if he returned in the morning. He pulled into the train yard and said a quick little thank you to the universe for getting him back in one piece and without being caught by his dad or his deputies. 

He headed down with the plan to crawl into bed and just sleep, but Derek was there, eyes glowing faint gold in the dark, relaxing as he recognized Stiles. The sheets had pooled down around his hips, leaving his long toned torso on display. Stiles felt his mouth go dry; sleep rumpled was apparently a good look on any Derek. 

“You find what you needed?” Derek asked, and Stiles nodded. “Get undressed and get into bed then,” Derek murmured, sliding back down to the pillows and waiting, eyes still gleaming in the dark. It was comforting, the way Derek’s eyes were wolf perfect, even if the shade was wrong for his Derek.

“Gold eyes,” Stiles muttered, as he yanked his jacket off. 

“Your Derek’s aren’t?” Derek intuited, and Stiles nodded. “Blue?”

“Used to be,” Stiles agreed, freezing as he slipped his jeans off, realizing what he’d just revealed. 

“So he is your Alpha,” Derek sounded satisfied. “I wondered. Why did you stop me earlier then? You need the comfort as much as I do, and you love us.”

“I love him,” Stiles explained, sighing. “No substitutions, swaps, or alternate universes. It’s not just a Hale and Volkov or attraction thing, it’s our history, down to our souls. Him fighting for me, me fighting for him.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Derek grumbled as Stiles slipped into the bed with him. “My Stiles and I… it’s just always been. Everyone else had ideas, but we just… are.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. It wouldn’t appeal to him, he supposed, to be as easy as breathing with his Derek, to not have to pick and fight and fold into each other’s damaged spots, but this Stiles and Derek had to fend off everyone else. Maybe it was fortunate for them to fit so naturally and effortlessly. On the other hand, Stiles cherished the memory of the moment he’d proved to Derek that the werewolf wasn’t capable of standing aside and watching him with someone else. 

He worried at his lip, wondering which would be worse, warning Derek about the obstacle he was about to throw in their way or blindsiding him. In the end, he couldn’t take the chance, so rather than meet the werewolf’s eyes, he curled in, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder and drifting off to sleep.

The sun woke him early, but Derek was already up to Stiles’ surprise. “Pack meeting tonight, remember,” Derek explained. “Something tells me you have a lot for us to accomplish before moonrise.”

“God, I can’t wait to be back in my own bed and away from this crazy potentially about to blow up in my face nonsense,” Stiles groaned, stretching and scrubbing at his face. 

“You’re still bleeding,” Derek pointed out, and Stiles looked at his wrist, seeing that he’d actually soaked through the packed gauze. Derek opened a trunk and pulled out fresh medical supplies. 

“I see your Stiles is a klutz too,” Stiles joked, as he tore off the sodden bandages. 

Derek frowned, taking in the narrow wound. “That doesn’t look like much,” he remarked.

“It’s magical, not going to stop bleeding until tonight,” Stiles explained. “Just wrap it tight and thick for now and if you notice it needs wrapped again, let me know.”

Derek touched his wrist gently, frowning. “It isn’t… there’s no pain for me to take.”

“Magical wound,” Stiles reminded him. “The blood loss sucks, but on the plus side, it doesn’t hurt.” His magic had rebounded nicely from the night before, so the tiny trickle of an open spell barely bothered him now. And the blood was seeping too slowly and faintly for it to affect his health.

“Your Derek would be okay with this?” Derek growled, fingers tightening, but not painfully.

“He’d make me talk it through, or promise it’s necessary,” Stiles admitted, shrugging. “I promise, in order to set this Beacon Hills right and bring your Stiles back, I am going to do what is necessary.”

“This is going to be a complete disaster movie showdown, isn’t it?” Derek grumbled, and Stiles grinned.

“Could be worse. Could be horror film ending.”

-*-

He’d been careful to avoid Laura, but he needed to make sure Lydia was at the meeting, so he stopped by her house late in the afternoon. She opened the door and gave him an arch look. “Apprentice,” she greeted him coolly.

“Banshee,” he greeted her in similar fashion, and she tilted her head at him.

“You’re up to something,” she observed, ear bending a little further toward him. “Your blood is singing with potential death.”

“I’m hoping to avoid any bloodbath, to be honest,” Stiles told her. “But I am about to bring the entire house of cards down. You should be at the pack meeting, in the nemeton clearing tonight.”

Laura appeared behind Lydia, looking equally intrigued and pissed. “Last time Lydia was in the same room as Gennadiy, he tried to slit her throat,” Laura chided him, eyes flashing gold for a moment, enough to settle his mind. “And I thought you were supposed to warn me before we imploded everything.”

“You have four hours,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “And I wasn’t working with all the facts last time we plotted any of this. It’s going to be a whole different sort of show tonight.”

Lydia reached into her sweater pocket and removed some powder, blowing it in his face, making him cough when a bit flew up his nose. “Not a doppelganger,” Lydia observed calmly, pulling out an iron chain. “Test number two, Fake Stiles?”

Stiles reached up, grabbing the iron chain as he wiped his face with his other hand. “Not your Stiles, but he is going to regret running away to my universe and bringing me in to clean up yours,” he admitted, letting his eyes go hard and his power shine through for Lydia’s benefit. 

“Holy shit, Laura, Stiles just made your nuclear option look like child’s play,” Lydia breathed, a grin starting to curl up her lips. Laura was staring at him, looking bewildered. 

“Find yourself a good tutor, Lydia,” Stiles advised her. “Laura’s going to need a good emissary.”

“But… Stiles…” she started, then looked thoughtful. “You’re binding his powers.”

“Too easy,” he waved at her dismissively. “I am much crazier than your regularly scheduled Stiles, and I have many, many more ideas for taking him out of the Volkov line of succession.”

“And he’ll be happy with it?” Laura asked, looking skeptical.

“If he wanted perfect, he should have kept trying himself,” Stiles replied coldly. “I will give him everything he asked for and he can then figure out happy from there.”

Laura nodded, suddenly resolute. “Fair enough,” she agreed. “What do you need from me?”

“If I’ve played my cards right, and I’ve read the people right, you may not have to do anything,” Stiles said, chewing on his thumb as he thought. “There’s still a couple of variables I’m not sure of though, so if your mom or mine try to fight it, you’ll need to stop them.”

“You don’t think it’s likely?” Laura asked incredulously, and Stiles shook his head slowly. 

“Your mom, no. This whole show is going to start by ripping out the foundation and razing the ground. My mom I’m not so sure about,” Stiles admitted.

“She’s your mom,” Lydia started waspishly, and Stiles turned his glare on her.

“No, she’s your Stiles’ mom. Mine died when I was 10 and she was human. I have no basis to make a judgment call when it comes to her reactions.” His voice was surprisingly sharp and cold, finality ringing out instead of anger. 

“We’ll follow your lead,” Laura agreed, putting a hand on Lydia’s arm. Lydia, to his surprise, quieted and nodded, following Laura’s lead.

“You’ll be a good alpha, and a good emissary,” Stiles told them, surprised to suddenly feel something warm and bright bubbling up in him for the two women. 

-*-

The Calaveras Matriarch arrived shortly before moonrise, per his instruction. Stiles spotted two of her hunters outside the clearing, a deliberate show for his benefit, he suspected, because a moment later, they faded into the trees. A rustle like feathers on a branch high above them drew both Araya and Stiles’ attention upward, and Danny waggled his fingers lazily at them, crossing his legs and lounging along the length of the branch.

“Faery witnesses, this will be eventful,” Araya remarked dryly. “Why am I here, emissary?”

“Let’s start with this,” Stiles said, handing her the letter the other Stiles had left behind for him. “Please confirm that I have authority over his life and may place him as I please.”

Araya read the letter, looked incredulously up at Stiles, then reread the letter. She began chuckling heartily then it became cackling as she figured out what was happening. “You have authority, emissary, and you speak for him,” she hooted, wiping her eyes. “I cannot wait to watch this show.”

Derek stepped out of the trees next, keeping a solid oak to the west of the nemeton at his back and nodding stiffly at the Calaveras matriarch. Laura and Lydia joined him moments later, Laura noting Derek’s position and doing the same to Lydia, placing her own body between the clearing at large and the banshee. Stiles remained near the nemeton, at compass north, aligned with the ley lines below. He needed all the help he could get to be quick enough to pull the first part off.

Other Hales’ began to arrive, keeping to the south edge of the clearing and away from the eastern path as they assessed the situation. Even Peter, who arrived with a much older and greyer Mira Hale, whom Stiles barely recognized from old pictures and news articles, stepped to the southern edge, a decisive statement of neutrality, though Peter looked too sharp and too eager, anticipatory. Stiles let his eyes flicker to Derek then to Peter, making sure the younger wolf noted his uncle and his power lust. It might be Derek’s job to keep his uncle under control after tonight. A tall man, broad and athletic, joined Peter, looking familiar, but it took longer for Stiles to place him as Derek’s half-brother, Alex. Alex looked curious, but kept his distance as well. The Hale pack apparently had no interest in the outcome at hand, and that suited Stiles just fine.

Stiles remained at the base of the nemeton, crouching down and examining the dirt and dying grass, surprised he hadn’t sensed this deep dying need from the tree when he first arrived. It echoed deep into the soil itself now that he knew what to look for, stagnant and dank dark magic choking off its growth. 

The wind shifting, bringing puzzled and discontented voices to his ears, newcomers approaching the clearing on the eastern path. Undoubtedly Talia and Claudia had caught the scents of uneasiness, in addition to Lydia, Danny and the Calaveras, and they would relay that information to Gennadiy as well. 

Ego, Stiles reminded himself, when they didn’t change course or break their approach at all. They were the top dogs and felt assured of their power and superiority compared with those gathered on the hill. He remained crouched though, feet flexing at the ready, hand deep in the first pouch on his belt and filled with his own perfect blend. His move would trigger Danny’s, so it all had to be perfectly timed. 

Gennadiy, Talia and Claudia entered the clearing at the same moment as Stiles sprang forward, almost perfectly choreographed. Stiles shot the powdered mixture of iron, lead, and St. John’s Wort into a smaller circle, then Danny rippled into being overhead, dropping a larger ring of Mountain Ash around all three adults. 

Perfection ended at the closing of the circles though, because Gennadiy and Talia were trapped, but Claudia sprang forward, headless of the barrier that should have stopped her. Laura, aware and even quicker than Claudia, sprang and met her mid-air, stopping her claws inches before they would have raked across Stiles’ face. 

They rolled, swiping and grappling for dominance, but once Derek was certain the magical rings would hold the other two and the pack wasn’t about to move, he sprung forward as well, he and Laura making short work of pinning Claudia down.

Stiles stepped closer, a little puzzled. “Has she ever broken through Mountain Ash before?” he asked, and Laura snarled as she shook her head. He stared down at his mom for a long horrible moment, her shifted face snapping and snarling as she continued to fight, then he stepped over to the still and silent pack, trying to slow his racing mind. Some of them had shifted to beta states, frozen but wary and ready, but not the one he was looking for.

“Mira?” he asked, and the woman looked to him, eyes darting in surprise. “Would you please shift for me?”

She looked startled, hesitating, so he added, “I swear, I mean you no harm. I just need to see your eyes.”

She shifted her eyes only, a rather remarkable show of control given how terrified she seemed. Stiles examined them, then impulsively leaned up and kissed her forehead, casting a quick calming spell around her and some of the more scared pack members. “Thank you,” he told her, enjoying the way she smiled, relaxing into the feel of magic she could no longer work herself.

“It’s all in the eyes,” he muttered, crossing the clearing to where Derek and Laura were still struggling to hold onto Claudia. “Good thing I made extra.” This time the circle went wide, around all three, and when it closed he nodded to Laura. “You and Derek can step out.”

Laura moved swiftly, and Claudia tried to follow Derek, who was slightly slower, and managed to rake claws through his jacket and draw faint lines of blood on his skin before slamming into the magical barrier. Derek shrugged his jacket off with a scowl at the torn leather, then dropped it in a crumpled heap and examined the wounds, which weren’t healing.

“Faery,” Danny filled in for Derek, grinning too widely at Gennadiy. “Him too.”

Stiles snorted, waving Danny and Derek back, looking over at a bewildered looking Talia. She was stunned and angry, motionless, so he decided to come back to her, turning instead on his grandfather. “How long have you been pretending to be Gennadiy Volkov?” he asked. The old man remained silent, glowering.

Stiles reached into a new pouch, pulling out a simple small perfume mister of putrescent looking green liquid. “Last chance to do this painlessly,” he warned the faery. “How long?”

The faery drew back his lips in a grimace, but remained silent, so Stiles spritzed his face a few times, making the old man cry out as his face melted off. 

For all the gruesome look of it, it was just his glamour wearing off. Once the façade of Gennadiy Volkov oozed down the captured fae’s neck, a younger face was revealed, still silver haired, but long and thick hair where Gennadiy had been balding, ivory fair and clear skinned with pointed ears, and bright copper eyes.

“Thorn,” Danny said grimly, looking over at Stiles. “How did you know?”

“The other me put his plan in place before he figured it out,” Stiles explained. “All he could do is warn me, leave a cryptic clue saying ‘it’s all in the eyes’. Luckily he wrote the spell to find the Stiles from another universe best suited to recognize and deal with his problems, and it must have taken his knowledge into account when it sought me out. I’ve dealt with doppelgangers and fae before.”

“You made glamour melt,” Danny murmured approvingly. “I want it.”

“When I’m done, your highness,” Stiles replied, quirking an eyebrow when Danny’s face turned dark. “Come on, Danny, I’m exposing your enemies and about to clear the path to the throne for your sister if I’m right. Patience.”

Danny stood down, and Stiles walked over to Claudia, staring her down. She glared for a moment, then let the glamour fade away, dropping rapidly to almost half her height, her hair melting into baby soft curls the color of the palest pink rose petals, her skin rosier and luminescent like a pearl. Her eyes were moonstone blue, too wide and shimmering to be real. “I’ll be damned,” Danny swore, gripping Stiles’ shoulder as he stepped forward. “You’re Ygdrra, the Unseelie queen’s missing daughter.”

“In exchange for my full cooperation, I’d like to remain missing,” she hissed, voice sibilant in mimicry of the hiss of snakes. “Human anonymity gave us a good hiding spot once, I’ll gladly return to it till my dying days.”

High tinkling laughter from the branches above was the only warning Stiles got before Delia dropped from the treetops, fire bright and luminescent in a way that made Stiles want to hide his eyes. Her long dark hair was streaked with copper tresses that blazed in the night, her eyes lit up the hot blue color of fire. The dress that wrapped around her could only be described as liquid rock, superheated boulders and earth swirling up over one shoulder to just below her hips, barely covering any of her skin, revealing native Hawaiian tattoos blanketing her bare arms and legs. 

A lava faery, didn’t that figure, Stiles mused, taking in the fact that this version of Delia, unlike the sleek fashion plate girl he knew in his home, was completely faery, completely wild. “I like this deal,” she informed Stiles, nodding her head to him. “With one modification. She rescinds all claims to the throne of the fae forever.”

Stiles looked to Danny, coal black and barely ember hot next to his sister’s flame, and the other man nodded his agreement. “One modification of my own,” he added, leaning in to whisper in Delia’s pointed ear, making her giggle at whatever he said, fiery eyes dancing mischievously in Stiles’ direction.

“Fair enough, though I’d call it a reward for our champion, not a modification,” she remarked teasingly. Whip fast, she was back at the barrier between Ygdrra and herself. “Renounce!”

“I renounce all claim to the thrones of either the Seelie or Unseelie court and to the simultaneously held throne of the fae,” Ygdrra spat out, surprisingly giving them more than they’d asked for. “I have no desire for them anyway." 

Stiles waited, expectantly, knowing she'd be the one to give him the story he wanted the clearing of wolves to hear. She nodded after a moment, giving in to his silent demand. "Thorn and I bested Gennadiy 22 years ago. Thorn took his face, but when we came for his daughter, she was with child. We waited, patiently, and once she bore him, I took her place. Thorn wanted to hide to bide his time and take Danny and Delia unawares, but I just wanted out, to escape the court. Thorn brought me to Claudia and her son partially because he knew I would leave him to his own plans if I was distracted. I didn’t want to be a wolf, but he needed a stronger hold on the pack-- his control was slipping when the Alpha’s husband died. Doppelgangers had already come for Stiles once by then, and if I couldn’t use my fae magic to protect him, I could use the wolves to do it instead.”

Stiles stared down the fae before him, a little stricken. He never would have expected that she had raised this Stiles the entire time. “And you never got caught?” he asked.

“We haven’t slipped up much. We picked magic users for that reason, because our abilities could be explained away. Once, Thorn lost control of his glamour completely when fighting an omega, so Thorn decided to kill the Alpha’s husband and daughter. Thorn did, I wasn’t even there. And then Stiles. I thought he knew, but then… that must have been when you changed places, because you weren’t looking at me suspiciously anymore.”

Claudia, or Ygdrra, trembled, looking directly at Stiles. “I’ll vanish, only come if you call me, I swear it.”

“It’ll be your Stiles’ choice,” Stiles said roughly, sighing as he looked to Delia, who nodded imperiously.

He reached out with his magic, keeping his distance, and broke the ring. Laura and Derek poised, ready to strike if Ygdrra tried anything, but she simply vanished with a small, sad smile. Stiles steadied himself, grounding his energy slowly, aware suddenly he was physically shaking under the knowledge that this Stiles had never known his mother, but that also meant he might still be right. She would have loved him and Derek just fine, stayed with his dad… this world, this one was toxic. 

Delia giggled again, drawing his attention in, apparently unaware that she’d just shaken every person in the clearing’s existence. She flounced happily, almost childlike, as she approached Stiles. “I normally wouldn’t give my brother’s request any weight, but you are not from this realm. And you do not seem to have any desire to travel between realms. But if you were to stay, I could make you fae, make you our champion for ages, Gennadiy.” 

“This small taste of this realm has been quite enough to make me swear to not voluntarily leave my proper realm again, your highness,” Stiles declined politely, to cover how strong the urge to vomit was becoming. 

She took in his bandaged wrist, still weeping blood, and made a little moue of distaste, before taking his other wrist in her hands instead. She dropped a kiss lightly on the unmarked skin on the back of his wrist, a flash of flame suddenly burning there into his skin and tattooing him. It was only familiarity with this brand of magic that kept Stiles from making any audible noise of pain. The burned tattoo was of two crowns, one solid and dark, one light and just an outline around unblemished skin. 

“No fae from either court can ever cause you harm, Gennadiy Stilinski, and the mark will follow you between realms. Our gratitude for your service,” she explained, before flicking quickly out of existence.

Stiles was so stunned that he missed Danny crossing to the barrier that contained Thorn. “I’m not like Ygdrra, I will kill you when you release me,” Thorn raged, throwing himself against the barrier. 

Danny’s fae attribute only dawned on Stiles’ once it was too late, the faery king’s shadow reaching through the barrier and then plunging itself into Thorn’s chest. For one, sickening long moment, nothing happened. Thorn was turning ashen, Stiles thought, then adjusted his mind so he could process what he was actually seeing. The older fae slowly crumpled as his body turned to ash. Lydia’s scream threw a number of the wolves to their knees, and Stiles struggled to hold back his own pained cry at the power she’d loosed at the old faery’s death.

Danny turned, dusting non-existent ash off his physical hands, letting his shadow dust off as well as it snapped back to his body. “King of shadows and embers,” he reminded Stiles, but fortunately he did not grin again.

Stiles took a deep, shaky breath, looking to see Talia where she’d crumpled to the ground under the weight of Lydia’s scream, shaky and pale, but alert. “So, let’s get your Stiles back. Easiest first. I am now full emissary and therefore name Lydia Martin my heir as emissary to the Hale Pack. Accepted?”

Lydia, looking shaken but resolute, stepped forward. “Accepted.”

“Senora Calaveras, I petition the Hunter’s Council for membership, to become a Hunter and enforce the code and laws of the Hunters,” Stiles continued briskly, afraid to stop now that the world was off its axis. He had to build a new foundation fast, before anyone else died.

“What are you doing?” Derek snarled, and Stiles, impatient and 4000% done with this world, slapped him none too gently with a silencing spell.

“Emissary Stilinski, no man may serve two masters,” Araya replied formally. If the night’s events had shaken her, it didn’t show. “We will accept you if you renounce your title.”

“Easy enough,” Stiles agreed. “I renounce my title as emissary to the Hale pack. Clause 3, off the list.” He turned to Derek, who was glowering. “Stay out of my way this time?” he asked, and the werewolf jerked his head in a nod just once. Stiles removed the spell. 

“So, clause #2, Derek and I can be together. Senora Calaveras?”

“Sí, the wolf may court you if he asks your matriarch’s permission,” she cackled again, amused. Derek’s jaw set, and he looked daggers at the hunter.

“Not to throw a wrench in this wonderful proceeding,” Danny remarked cheerfully, drawing Stiles’ attention to his continued presence in the clearing again. “My dear Lady Calaveras, the king of the Seelie Court asks permission to court your newest apprentice hunter.”

Stiles felt his jaw drop, and Derek growled. “Sure, fine,” Araya agreed, shrugging. 

“You know I’m not staying, right?” Stiles asked Danny, who merely grinned unrepentantly. 

“He’s still got all your potential,” Danny replied, darting in and pressing a lingering, but chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips before vanishing with a dark, rolling laugh.

“I also ask permission to court Stiles,” Derek ground out, and Araya reached up, patting Derek’s cheek.

“That wasn’t so hard, grumpy,” she teased him. “And of course you may.”

“Oh my god,” Laura gasped, but she wasn’t looking at Stiles, she had loosed her claws at something approaching behind him. Stiles followed her gaze and bowed to the couple entering the clearing. Everyone else appeared to freeze.

“Condition number 4, safety for all,” Stiles returned to his quick pacing. “The nemeton is dying, because it has had no caretaker for over two decades. The fae could not claim it. Lydia, I love you, but you are not going to be able to hold its power either.”

“Thank god,” she agreed darkly. 

“My lady,” Stiles bowed again to the newest woman in the clearing. Her hair was as white blonde as he remembered, but her grim countenance already seemed lightened since summoning her the night before. The man next to her was as dark as she was light, his bright grin flashing white under ebony skin. He was clearly more wary than Sasha, one of his coal black horns extended from his wrist protectively between themselves and Stiles. He was this world’s version of the last Qilin, and to Stiles’ amazement, a man, unlike the Lady Sasha, who had come from his own realm. “I owe you a boon.”

Sasha sniffed, lips curling up slightly. “You pulled me through dimensions and ended five centuries of loneliness, mage.” She extended her own silvery horn from her wrist, her only remaining one as Stiles still kept her other in his trunk of magical bric-a-brac, and touched it to Stiles’ bleeding wrist. “The spell is sealed, and I will remain here. All debts between us are paid.”

“The nemeton needs a new keeper, my lady,” Stiles explained. “Can you give up your hunting ways to care for her instead?”

“Won’t be seeing many faeries in Beacon Hills now,” Peter grumbled, but Mira elbowed him sharply, cutting his air off and making him groan. 

Sasha considered the tree, then turned to the other Qilin. “Both of us,” she decided, shaking her head. “The damage is too much for just my magic to save her.”

“Gladly,” the man’s voice was a deep rumble of thunder, and before Stiles could process it, they had each sunk a horn into the nemeton. Blood, dark and decayed, full of ichor, poured out of the wounds, but the magic of the tree only rumbled once, then held, roots sinking in and growing again.

Satisfied that the fireworks were over, Stiles turned back to where Talia had sunk to her knees, weeping silently in the grass. “Hate is a powerful blinder, as is grief, and they gave you both,” Stiles said softly, crouching down next to the Alpha. “Laura will be Alpha heir, and she will be mated to the pack’s emissary, and the territory will hold, protected by hunters, Qilin, and the Hale pack, but they will be one, united and strong pack. Can you be that leader?”

She nodded, sobbing, and Stiles broke the barrier, unsurprised when Laura rushed right to her, hugging her mother tightly. Alex wasn’t far behind them, holding them both in his arms. Derek moved to join them, but drew up short, gazing at Stiles instead.

“It wasn’t what he had in mind, being a hunter, having to be courted,” Derek observed, and Stiles shrugged, unwinding the now useless bandages from around his wrist. The smudge that had remained of the unicorn horn tattoo when he crossed universes had vanished, and to his great relief, he found that his infinity sign tattoo was reemerging. The spell that brought him here was unraveling.

“Maybe he’ll learn a good lesson about not bringing in outside help to tear down your world next time,” Stiles remarked acidly, but Derek darted out a hand, stopping his tirade.

“Those fae would have killed us all if he hadn’t, if he’d tried to do it himself,” Derek all but choked on the words, struggling to say them. “Thank you.”

Stiles nodded solemnly, then grinned at Derek. “And hey, good luck beating Danny for his affections,” Stiles told Derek. “Put in the effort, god knows Danny will. Besides, after crossing dimensions to save you, he deserves a little romance in his life.”

Whatever Derek was going to say in reply was lost as wind was suddenly whipping around Stiles, compressing his body and tearing his molecules apart.

-*-

Stiles woke slowly, fingers threading through his hair and gently stroking in a familiar way. “Please tell me I’m home,” he mumbled, and the fingers stopped, much to Stiles’ dismay.

“You switched back?” Derek demanded, helping Stiles up, despite his groan of protest. He felt like he’d been fed molecule by molecule through a pinprick in the universe, every bit of him aching and sore, and come to think of it, that was probably true.

He focused his eyes, noticing that the mismatched red wood chair from their dining room was now sitting directly across from their sofa, covered in long loops of rope and strips of cloth. “I see my alternate universe self received a warm welcome.”

Derek scowled at him. “Kid shows up, reeking of Laura and my mom and fae, and Danny and I may have… overreacted. Cora had a theory that if we killed him you might switch back, but fortunately for him, we don’t let her make plans.”

Stiles laughed, wincing as his ribs protested, then laughed again anyway. Cora, alive, well, and solving every problem with her claws. He needed to hug her soon. Danny, normal, human, beautiful overprotective brother Danny was getting the same treatment too. 

“By the time he was done trying to explain to us what he’d done, we were pretty determined he was staying under guard till you solved what he’d done and came back. Then about half an hour ago, he vanished, and you tumbled out of the ceiling.”

“Did you catch me?” Stiles wondered, not feeling nearly sore enough for if he’d crashed into their hardwood floors.

“Werewolf reflexes,” Derek reminded him, leaning in and gently kissing the side of his head, carefully pulling Stiles into him and wiggling his fingers into Stiles’ to leech away the pain. Stiles sighed gratefully, the lingering ache seeping away. “Tell me what happened?”

“God, what a shit show,” Stiles groaned, relaxing into Derek’s embrace. “I found a world that’s actually about as bad as ours.”

He talked slowly, Derek letting him ramble and asking questions whenever Stiles faltered over, and drawing away the pain both with his werewolf abilities and by slowly massaging Stiles’ neck and shoulders. Derek’s presence alone was tangibly settling him and his magic in ways it hadn’t been in days.

He paused when he finished telling Derek everything, even stumbling his way through explaining the other Derek’s determined flirtation, the faery king’s kisses, and the horrible death of the fae pretending to be his grandfather. “I’ve imagined it, what our lives might have been like if my grandfather lived, if he saved your family from the fire, and your mom gave mine the bite, and I always just thought it would be blissful.”

“Still you and me?” Derek joked weakly, and Stiles snuggled against him, smiling a little. 

“Yeah, always me and you,” Stiles agreed. “But getting dropped in there, thinking I’d found what I’d imagined and it was horrific…”

“Hey, here’s what I know,” Derek said, tugging Stiles around so they could look each other in the eye. “It wasn’t your grandfather, and it wasn’t your mother, and under their guidance, it wasn’t my mother either. The woman I knew would have died rather than let someone stick her children in a vault to risk madness.”

“Anyway, it just shook me-- that was the worst part of the whole thing, the doubting and thinking, what if? What if this is what it really would have been like?” Stiles rambled, shrugging as though that would shake the lingering feeling off him. 

“That’s really not the worst part of the story,” Derek remarked, and Stiles looked, up, confused. “First, if you need grounding, need me, then it’s not cheating to be with another version of me, though this better never happen again,” he grumbled, and Stiles chuckled.

“But it wasn’t you,” Stiles emphasized. “I don’t know how to explain it, but my magic could feel it, was unsettled, because you were missing. Even being close to him, it wasn’t enough to really ground me or fool me. I don’t need any old version of you, it has to be you, Derek. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Derek murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Stiles lips. “Second, you reek of Danny and fae magic.”

“Aww, sourwolf, you know that’s easy to change,” Stiles teased easily. 

“And I have a couple of plans, depending on how tired you are,” Derek agreed, trailing a few kisses carelessly down Stiles’ jaw. “Plan A, we go grab a shower, I clean you all over with that scent neutralizing soap you cooked up, and then we crawl into bed and get my scent all over you.”

“Hmm, sounds good, but what’s behind door number 2?” Stiles asked impishly. “I’m really not tired.”

“Okay, Plan B,” Derek nipped at his earlobe, voice lowering to a rumbling purr. “I think my least favorite part about your adventure if just how close the Seelie King got to you.” Derek dragged his tongue up Stiles throat in a parody of what Danny had done days before, and Stiles shuddered pleasantly. “And I think I should thoroughly mark every inch of you the same way he did.”

“God, yes please,” Stiles stammered, laughing when Derek scooped him up and carried him into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Stiles shimmied out of his clothes rapidly, unsurprised to see Derek just as quickly shedding his own. Derek waited just long enough for Stiles to drop the last of his clothing, then tumbled into him, knocking him to the bed and pinning Stiles’ wrists beside his head. 

“Every last place he touched,” Derek growled, and he tongue laved hotly against Stiles’ collarbone. 

“Nnngh, Derek,” Stiles groaned, arching his hips up, but Derek hover out of reach while he worked at Stiles’ throat, licking and sucking roughly. As though objecting to the sound, Derek slid up and captured Stiles’ mouth, not waiting for Stiles to part his lips but instead insistently bringing his tongue to Stiles’ lips and parting them himself, claiming Stiles with a searching, thorough kiss. 

Stiles’ head was still swimming when he realized Derek had moved his mouth down his body, licking quickly then nibbling at one of his nipples in a burst of rapid sharp sensations. “Ah, Danny didn’t touch me there,” Stiles groaned, and Derek grinned as he switched sides.

“It’d be a long night if I didn’t get a little more adventurous than he did,” Derek pointed out with maddening logic before biting at Stiles’ other nipple, this time catching the bud and tugging gently, grinning when Stiles cried out in pleasure. “But if you’d prefer I come back up your body instead of continue down…?”

“No, please,” Stiles panted, suddenly eager. “Down is good, down is very good.”

“I have somewhere perfect in mind,” Derek murmured, rubbing his stubble gently over the planes of Stiles’ abdomen. “I think it’s just begging for attention, don’t you? You should help it beg.”

Stiles actually felt his cock pulse, leaking in anticipation. “God, yes, please, Derek, suck my cock, please,” he pleaded, and Derek grinned wolfishly up at him.

“Who said anything about your dick?” Derek asked, roughly flipping Stiles over before Stiles could process what had happen. His breath punched out of him in a gasp, barely catching again before Derek had his large hands cupping and spreading Stiles open, tongue delving into his ass rapidly.

“Fuck, god, fuck, Derek, please,” Stiles sobbed, fingers clenching around the pillows as Derek wiggled the tip of his tongue teasingly back around Stiles’ rim, wetting and stretching him. His skin was hot and tight and he felt his breath punching out of him as Derek opened him up.

“Tell me you can take it,” Derek growled, and Stiles nodded desperately. 

“God yes, give it to me,” Stiles demanded, knowing this would hurt and burn and be the best thing ever if Derek would just get to it already.

Derek must have had some lube handy though, because though he didn’t try and stretch Stiles further, he paused long enough to slick himself before shoving his cock hard, nudging the head along Stiles’ hole. “I’ve missed you,” Derek confessed, then with a sudden rough shove, popped the head of his dick through, making Stiles keen desperately.

“Missed you, missed this, need you,” Stiles managed to gibber out before Derek was shoving forward again, smoothly this time, not stopping till his full length was buried in Stiles. He slowly pulled back, leaving just the bulbous tip inside, then roughly slammed forward, grunting as Stiles cried out. He did it again, then pulled Stiles up. Stiles followed Derek’s easy demands, moving till he was straddling the werewolf, shifting on the cock buried deep in him.

“I’ll help you ride me,” Derek reassured him, his hands wrapping around Stiles’ hips and practically lifting Stiles off him. Stiles drove himself into the movements as best he could, but he was so boneless and light with pleasure that it was still all Derek’s control. Derek thrust his hips up once more before Stiles was biting down screams as he came, spattering semen all over Derek’s chest. 

The werewolf didn’t stop, still plunging up into Stiles, but even through his haze, Stiles could feel how erratic the thrusts were becoming. “Cm’n, Derek,” he slurred. His legs were trembling, sliding out from under him as Derek shoved into him one last time, roaring as he came.

Stiles let himself slip in and out of consciousness, only finding the will to open his eyes when Derek cleaned him up a little and tugged some sleep pants onto him. “What…?” he managed sleepily.

“I texted the pack that you’re back and safe,” Derek explained, tossing the wet rag in the hamper, apparently unconcerned about the lingering scents from it. He slid in, wrapping his arms around Stiles, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. “Didn’t figure you’d want to be naked when they all pile in here.”

“Could have had morning sex,” Stiles objected, but was already drifting off, only dimly aware of Derek’s deep chuckles before sleep claimed him.

*-*

Stiles woke up slowly, processing the room around him and barely stifling a groan at what he was seeing. Danny had obviously broken into the room first, claiming the prized foot of the bed spot to sleep. Jackson had probably followed next, but had curled up in the recliner next to the bed, blue eyes already open and meeting Stiles’ gaze with a calm smile. Cora, a bit more wary of walking in on Derek and Stiles after the last time she’d made that mistake, had probably come in later, and finding the foot of the bed occupied, had simply crawled up on top of Derek and Stiles’ legs and made herself comfortable, using Danny’s shoulder as a pillow. Delia was stirring from the window seat, and like Cora, she now flounced down on top of them, pushing Cora and Derek and Stiles with her feet until she’d scooted their bodies apart enough to make a little hollow she could fold her body into, cheek resting against Stiles’ thigh and sighing as she made herself comfortable. Jackson made no move to slide into his spot at Stiles’ back, which brought Stiles’ attention to the fact that someone was already curled against him. He craned his head back enough to see Lydia, looking sleepily annoyed at him, as she curled up closer to his head to allow room for Jackson to pile on the bed with them, which he did by half laying on Lydia and throwing an arm over Stiles then threading his legs under Cora and Danny, waking them up as well.

“Your pack wants you,” Stiles grumbled sleepily, burying his face back into Derek’s shoulder.

“You’re the one who got sucked into an alternate dimension,” Derek grumbled back, but he turned and pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “Pretty sure they’re here to make sure you’re in one piece.”

“All good,” Stiles managed through a yawn. “Lost one tattoo, picked up a new one.” He waved his wrist, and quick as a wink, Delia grabbed hold of it.

“What’d he get now?” Lydia asked, though the words were half swallowed by her yawn.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, turning enough that he could nudge her knee with his forehead. “Long way from MIT.”

“Helping your professor of time magic try to open a window to the timeline you were stuck in and pull you back from this side,” Lydia replied grouchily, like she sounded whenever her magical talents, rather than her mathematical ones, were called upon. 

“Love you,” he muttered, nudging again, and she smiled, apparently accepting his thanks and apology all in one.

“He’s got a faery mark,” Delia reported to Lydia, tracing the tattoo with her fingers. “Pretty sure this is spelled so no faery can do him any harm or mischief.”

“The hell did you get into this time, Stiles?” Danny grumbled, making Cora growl in a sleepy protest when he rolled himself over her to examine the mark himself.

Derek groaned as Cora retaliated against Danny’s encroachment by shoving an elbow in his shin. “You need a bigger bed, losers,” Cora complained, and Stiles laughed before he could stop himself. 

“You sure you missed this?” Derek asked Stiles, who hid his face in Derek’s shoulder.

“I saw the trade in model,” Stiles muttered into Derek’s skin. “Wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

*-*

Later, after the full story had been told to everyone and Lydia and Delia had started debating the mechanics of Stiles' trans-dimensional spell to bring the Qilin through with him, Derek followed Stiles into the kitchen, sliding his arms around his waist and holding him gently, back pressed to chest. "Most powerful and capable version of yourself in the multiverse?" Derek tested the words carefully, and Stiles shrugged, uncertain.

"Maybe it was just that I was the only one with experience with the fae," he hedged, and Derek's arms tightened minutely. He swallowed, hard, and forced the words out. "It's a terrifying thought."

"No one I'd trust more with that sort of power, if it is true," Derek reassured him, lips brushing gently over the shell of his ear.

Danny cleared his throat as he entered, but easy familiarity meant Stiles and Derek just turned to acknowledge him. "So we should talk about Delia and I," Danny said. "I know you lied about the test in high school, and I've been keeping quiet since Eamon told me what we are. But I can't help thinking too many people know."

"We will keep you safe, let you stay human if that's what you want," Stiles reassured him, heart pounding when Danny admitted to knowing, and for the span of a few years no less.

"It's what we want," Danny agreed, but he looked warily at Derek. "As long as nothing's changed, I want to live out my life as your human second."

"I told Stiles years ago, I knew all I needed to know about you," Derek replied gruffly, reaching out and gripping the back of Danny's head, bringing their foreheads together for a moment. "You always have a home in my pack."

Danny relaxed, breath choking for a moment, before tugging Derek into a proper hug. Stiles wanted to smile, but felt his lie from high school still wrapping tight around his throat. "Danny," he started to say when the other two broke apart, but he didn't get any further before he was being tugged into a tight hug.

"Thank you," Danny said, voice surprisingly firm. "Thank you for giving me the lie I needed. I am painfully aware with how unable to deal with this I was when I was 17. I needed a few more years of believing I was totally human."

"And now?" Stiles couldn't help asking.

"Now you help me keep being human," Danny confirmed, still holding him tightly. "No one I trust more, Stiles."


End file.
